


Stormbringer

by singleorganicmachine



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Genderbending, Multi, Non-human Loki, Rough Sex, Shapeshifting, Siren! Loki, Some Graphic Violence, Viking! Thor, mention of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singleorganicmachine/pseuds/singleorganicmachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in an Alternate Universe where Thor is a human Viking, the headstrong young Prince has set sail in search of a mysterious "monster" that has been destroying ships and luring men to their deaths. The journey appears hopeless at first, but he cannot turn back for his honor is at stake and he fears he will never be king if he fails. Finally there comes a clue, and on an unknown island rimmed with the skeletons of sunken ships, Thor finds that this "monster" is anything but what he expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm still working out a lot of kinks in this story, so bear with me as it moves along. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think!

~~~

I have begun to fear this quest a futile one. My honor depends upon the success of this voyage, but it has been near to a year, and we have not seen so much as a sign, nor heard more than the usual rumors. Often we must subsist on dry meal biscuits for weeks on end until we come across a trading post, but our supplies are nearly gone. My father’s prized longship, the Stormbringer, is the jewel of his fleet, but it was designed for speed and maneuverability, not cargo, and this voyage has stretched overlong. My men—though they are some of the most fearsome and hardy thanes in my father’s formidable army—have been hungry, cold, filthy, and restless for months on end.

Morale is failing, but I cannot return to my aging father a failure yet again. Never have I disappointed him in battle; indeed, as firstborn son and prince of Asgard, I have brought to Odin’s halls more plundered booty and spoils of war than any other of his thanes, yet he spurns me for my lesser deeds, my paltry indiscretions. I am a warlord like none other in his ranks, his chosen heir, yet he demeans me for petty reasons, for harmless slights with whores and maids. Every day he threatens to make my younger brother, Baldr, king in my stead.

This is my chance to win his eternal favor, and so I cannot turn back.

~~~

Finally, we have come across a promising lead. While docking for repairs and supplies, Fandral vanished into a nearby tavern, as he is wont to do, but returned so quickly it earned him many a jest from the other men. Upon reporting to me, I learned that he came across the sister of a local thane who had gone missing—apparently lost at sea with the rest of his merchant crew. When I questioned why this should be of any matter to me, Fandral went on to say that there was a single survivor from the crew, and that he swore in the name of Valhalla’s shining gates that they had encountered a strange creature.

I immediately returned to the tavern with Fandral to question the sister, who pointed out the survivor to us, sitting solitary in the corner. On approaching him, I discovered that where there was once a great bulk of muscle there hung sunken skin on weary bones. His face was haggard, his eyes stricken, and his beard unkempt. He drank his mead with an unsteady hand.

I sat in the chair across from him, Fandral at my back, ready to meet any threat that might come from behind, and ordered a drink of my own. 

“Greetings, stranger,” I said to him. “Might I inquire about your adventure? I have heard such stories, but I must say I doubt the truth of them.”

He did not answer right away. “Doubt all you like. I know what I saw—what I heard. But I do not expect an outsider to believe me when not even my own kith does.” At this he took a steep draught, the ale dribbling down his beard. 

I drank from my own mug. “I do not doubt the truth of your words, friend, but can you tell me what it is you saw? I have heard other such stories.”

He wiped his sloppy chin with his hand, barely throwing me a glance. “We were sailing for Alfheimr to trade furs for spices, but a sudden storm blew us off course. This was no ordinary storm, I tell you—it was bewitched. It arose from nowhere, accompanied by the strangest sound on the wind, like a melody. There was not a single cloud in the sky or even a shift in the breeze, then suddenly our ship was tossed about the waves like a toy, and I watched men be swept into the sea all around me. I will never forget their screams, but we could do nothing for them. Then came the rocks—we were dashed against them, over and over, and I clung to the mast with all my strength. Others tried to hang on, but…” 

He took another swift drink. “Soon, my captain and I were alone, the ship being decimated, sinking, the sail torn to shreds, but I thought myself blessed because we were approaching an island. It was exotic and lush, with sand so white I mistook it for snow, and rocks so smooth and black they seemed to have been polished… I had never seen anything like it. 

“We were about to abandon ship and head for shore when we heard it—that strange, melodious sound again, clearer and closer now. I would not have thought it possible, but it was singing. Before I realized, I was thrown overboard by the captain, my head being dashed against a rock. The water was so clear I glimpsed the dozens upon dozens of other ships sunken in the lagoon—longships and knörrs alike, from several countries. I floated back to the surface, bleeding, disoriented, but managed to heave myself over some drifting debris. The current took me back out to sea—and you can scoff and jibe all you like; yes I was woozy and yes my skull had taken a blow, but I swear on Freya’s sweet tits that I saw my captain swimming towards the rocks, unheeding of anything but a white figure sitting upon them.”

At this, I sat up straighter, leaning in. “A white figure?”

“Aye, a white figure, perched up there on the rocks like a seabird, singing.”

“What manner of figure was it?” I demanded, my heart pounding with anticipation—this was the most coherent and most detailed tale I had yet heard of this mysterious entity. “A beast? A monster? A spirit?”

The drunken man leaned in, finally looking me dead in the eyes, and though they were sallow and intoxicated, I saw no deceit. “A woman,” he whispered. 

“A woman,” I repeated.

“Aye, a woman. A white woman, with black hair, and a voice so beautiful there is no escaping it. I tell you, I tried to swim back, no matter how beaten and senseless I was, I tried, but the current was too strong. My captain had been trying to kill me, to have her to himself, but he saved my life. I passed out on that debris and was picked up by a knörr by chance. I thought myself lucky, until I was spurned by my own people—my own neighbors, my own family.” He finished off his drink with a swig and then threw down the mug, bellowing in his hoarse voice for another. 

The barmaid sneered at him as she brought him his drink, but he ignored her. Her eyes lingered on me and she bent a little dramatically at the waist to ask if I needed another as well. I gave her bosom a generous inspection, but declined. 

“Friend,” I said to the woeful stranger, “I believe you. Tell me, where were you when you heard this singing—when the storm began? Could it be found again?”

At this, he raised his brow. “Why would you want to know, after what I have just told you?”

“That is not your concern.” I removed a sack of gold coin from my satchel and set it on the table in front of him. His eyes blew wide at the sight as he rummaged through the bag. “Now, friend, tell me everything you remember.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Thor of Asgard finally comes upon the fabled "white woman's" island, and it is just as the stranger described it to him. Unwilling to sacrifice his men, he decides to go on alone, and confront the monster himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapters, everyone. They will get longer most likely, as I work out the flow of the story.

~~~

It is over two months now that we have sought out this place, this mysterious island where this “white woman” is said to reside. I was surprised to hear such a description of the infamous monster that had sunk so many ships, destroyed so many lives. There were so many tales coming to us from traders across the seas, but my father never gave them any merit until one of our very own knarrs was lost. To prove my honor to my father, I had volunteered to hunt this menace down and put an end to it forever.

The details were so clear, and that man’s eyes so stricken, that I believed him. All this time I expected a great sea serpent, a dragon of the deep, not a woman with an enchanted voice, but it is the best lead I have to go on after a year of searching, and I will not abandon my quest now that I am finally close.

~~~

The days grow colder and colder as we travel in the direction I was told to sail, and at this rate I know my men fear we may sail off the edge of the World Tree itself. Every available fur is in use, wrapped around broad but weary shoulders and lashed to freezing feet and hands. I myself have donned my most valuable vestment—a thick cloak made from the hide of a rare great white bear, the only one ever seen in my lands. I killed it so cleanly that the fur was unblemished, so pure it was like wearing a blanket of snow. It was a most proper garment for a crown prince, though my father was barely impressed by the feat. It did garner much attention from the women at court, at least. Fandral envies it, I know, but I would give it up for no man.

The men grow impatient, weak, so worn and exhausted that even Hogun has parted his lips and expressed to me that it may be wise to turn back. But I cannot. I cannot fail my father this time, not after being gone for so long, not after enduring such Hel for months on end all for the sake of my honor. We will find this island and when I come upon this “white woman” I will strangle the life from her with my bare hands.

~~~

It is only two days later that Volstagg comes to pound on my door, announcing that Heimdall, the lookout, sees something in the distance. I run out on deck and join my most trusted comrades at the bow of the Stormbringer. 

Volstagg’s bulk encompasses my left, while Fandral and Hogun stand at my right. I use my instrument to peer into the horizon, seeing what appears to be a fleck of land, flanked all around by spires of rock, so tall and numerous they resemble a dense forest. The wind is calm, but biting with cold, and there is ice clinging to the hull and the mast. This place lacks altogether in seabirds, and the waves are disturbingly black, and flat as tilled earth. There is not a cloud in the sky, nor is there sun. It smells…strangely sweet, hardly salty at all.

“This is it,” I say, lowering my instrument. “It is just as the stranger described it to be, before he heard the song on the wind and the storm began…”

“That means the same calamity will strike us, any moment now,” Fandral observes gravely. 

I consider. We are down to the last half of our rations, and though no one says it, I am aware that it is barely enough to make the voyage back the way we came. Every detail of the sea ahead matches what the stranger told to me, and I can have no more doubt that he spoke the truth. That means that the sliver of land I see in the distance is the white woman’s island, able to be reached only by traversing the deadly forest of jagged rocks ahead. I know my longship, though swift and agile, will never make it through intact—especially if the mysterious storm comes. 

I look at my three most trusted friends, and then I glance back at the rest of the men, bundled in furs, shivering, gnawing on hard biscuits. They are miserable, but they have been loyal. We have seen many a battle together, the lot of us. 

I sigh. “Tell the men to turn us about and drop anchor,” I say.

“My lord?” Volstagg questions. “What do you plan?”

“This shall be as far as you and the men go,” I say, turning to them. 

“But my lord—” Fandral protests. 

I stop him with a hand to his shoulder. “Listen to me. The Stormbringer cannot make this journey. She would be lost, and all of you along with her. The stranger said that only he and his captain were left after the storm, but that the man tried to kill him to have the woman for himself. Her song is like a poisonous spell, able to manipulate us, make us turn on one another—if, of course, we survive the rocks.” I shake my head, my face set as grimly as Hogun’s for once. “Nay, I will not allow such a thing. If this woman wants to call a man to her island, then she will get what she wishes, but not at the expense of my crew. I will go on alone in the faering.”

“The faering!” Volstagg exclaims. “If that storm comes you will be drowned in an instant!”

“If there is no crew to decimate, no ship to sink, then there need be no storm,” I observe. “I have given this some thought.” Hogun’s brow quirks and I find myself giving a chuckle. “Yes, I know that any strategy other than a frontal assault is not my strong suit, but hear me. It is obvious that this witch wants at least one man to reach her—to what end I know not—but if that is the case then I will at least make it that far. The rest of you I will not risk. Not for my honor.”

“I for one would gladly die for your honor, sire,” Hogun says, flatly as always, but his eyes are alive. I smile and clasp his shoulder.

“I as well,” Fandral says, stepping forward. 

“And I,” Volstagg nods in accordance. 

“My friends.” I struggle not to let the weak, unmanly emotions show on my face, but for the first time, it is difficult. “I thank you. A warlord could have no greater warriors than you three, a prince no greater subjects…a man no greater comrades.” I clasp wrists with each of them, and they clasp in turn. The four of us have been friends since I was a lad, and though they best me in age, they have been closer to me than my own family, looking after me since I first began my combat training at the age of nine. Our affection is not spoken, but it is no secret. “I must go on alone. If your honor will not allow it, then consider it a command.”

They reluctantly acquiesce, and withdraw to inform the men. I return to my small chamber to pack what little supplies I may need: a satchel of biscuits and jerky, a skin of water and a flask of mead, a healing pack, my logbook and ink, and my navigational instruments; for though I know not what awaits, I intend to return. I dress in a fresh set of clothing as well: linen smallclothes, my best wool tunic, dyed brilliant red, leather trousers and gloves, boots lined with wolf fur, a shirt of mail, iron vambraces, and my winged helm—usually reserved for ceremony, but today perhaps apropos. My white bear’s cloak goes about my shoulders, my axe on my belt, my dagger at my hip, my shield on my back, and then I am ready to face the challenge that will ensure my honor in my father’s eyes.

~~~

The men are all regretful of leaving me, I can tell, but none dare reveal such a weakness by speaking. They are hardened warriors, King Odin’s finest; they have not a sentimental bone in their bodies. I do receive a respectful bow from every man as I make my way to starboard, where they have lowered the faering into the water. I do not waste my breath with farewells, but I thank them for their service, give my Warriors Three a final look, and then drop to the modest boat. 

I set up a pair of oars and begin to row away, and they raise anchor once I am clear. Soon the magnificent gold and crimson sail of the Stormbringer is unfurled and filled once again, and I watch it become smaller and smaller on the still, black waters. When it is gone, I focus on what lies ahead. 

The only sounds now are my uneven breathing, huffing with cold, and the splashing of my oars as they cut the dark water. As I encroach upon the spires of rock encasing the distant isle, I briefly think of Sif, my betrothed. We have been friends since childhood, as her parents were killed in a raid and my father took pity on her and allowed her to move into his great longhouse. Though not of particularly noble birth, her father was a friend to mine, and it was always his wish that I marry her. She is beautiful indeed, though I admit that I have seen her more as a comrade than a mate, but even seeing her at all would be a blessing now, as I row into the unknown at the edge of the World Tree. 

I wonder if perhaps this was a mistake; perhaps the stranger was mad, or simply a liar. Perhaps finding such a place was merely coincidence. Perhaps I have sealed my own doom. Then I start to think: perhaps it is better if I do die here. I will not have to see the look of disappointment in my father’s eyes again. My younger brother, Balder, though he is too soft, is also much calmer and more clever than I—he will make a wise king when Odin finally dies. I think of how my gentle yet fiery-spirited mother will mourn me when I am gone.

But then I hear it.

Wafting softly across the air, like a whisper, comes a sound—at first I mistake it for the wind, but I feel no breeze on my cheeks, and the more I listen, the more I can tell there is a melody to the sound. It rises and falls with a rhythm, with a purpose, and the closer I come to the rocks, the louder, clearer, and more harmonious the sound becomes. 

I realize that it is, in fact, singing. A woman’s high, lilting voice ringing through the air, not singing any words that I can understand, but rising and falling with an intricate melody. I want to listen, to hear it more closely, so I employ the precaution Hogun and I devised and press the specially formed lumps of candle wax I brought into my ears. With the sound of the singing successfully dampened, I row on. My breath puffs in clouds of fog and my arms strain and ache, but still I jerk the oars against the water, propelling myself toward that enchanting voice.

I come upon the rocks, moving as carefully as I can between them as they tower above me, looming like terrible giants, and I pray to the gods for the strength not to fail.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor at last comes face to face with the monster he has sought for so long, and in doing so he meets his destiny and quite possibly his doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting to the juicy bits I know everyone is waiting for.

There are too many near disasters as I row between the behemoth rocks; at one point I smash the stern, losing one of my oars and gaining a dent in my vambrace—the rocks are sharp as axe blades—but there is another pair so I press on. I perhaps did not realize how harrowing this path would be even for such a small boat. I nearly capsize more than once as the waves increase in ferocity, but this fails to deter me. If my boat tipped, I would simply swim on.

I lose another oar and am now down to my last two, but I row on, the rocks becoming thicker, the path narrower, until I am battered against them by the waves, at some point my helmet the only thing that saves me from a cracked open skull. Thought I am intact, the blow unfortunately dislodges one of the wax plugs in my ear, and I can hear the song is louder now, loud enough for me to distinguish notes, phrases. It appears to be words after all, sung in a language I have never heard.

Instantly, I am soothed by the beautiful, lulling sound. My alertness of the danger dampens, becoming of far less importance than her voice. I must get to it—nothing else could matter to me more. I rip the other plug from my ear and row faster, harder, the screaming of my muscles going unheeded as desire wells in my chest. I will overcome any obstacle, any danger, to be with her. 

I lose another oar but can hardly row anymore, and merely use the remaining one to attempt to steer, to keep me from plowing bow-first into one of the massive stones. Eventually it becomes hopeless, and I simply hang on for my life, all the while hardly feeling a twinge of fear. 

Still the voice sings to me, calling me home.

At last, my boat is tossed free from the rocks, heavily damaged but afloat, my body bruised but not broken, coming to rest in the gentle, crystal-blue waters of a shallow lagoon.

I look about, seeing just as was described to me: a rather small but lush island, with white beaches and a cliff-face of black rock, so smooth it appears to have been polished. What shocks me the most is the drastic and sudden change in weather—though still there is no sun, it is brighter here, and very warm. All the wintry cold of before has vanished as if it never existed, as if ice did not mere moments ago bite at my lungs. Almost instantly I begin to sweat in my wool and furs. 

I dip my remaining oar in the water, rowing through the lagoon, barely mindful of the fleet of sunken ships I can see resting just below the surface. Some of their masts break the surface with their tips, the remnants of old banners still trailing from a few. Her song has never been clearer than now, her voice loud and sure and strong, each note melting my heart, fluttering my gut, and constricting my groin.

Sweat pools at my hairline and the back of my neck as my breathing comes short, my skin filling in with heat as my boat drifts closer to the isle. Her voice is piercing now, making me fidget as blood flows south, making my heart pound so harshly I feel it will burst, and still I row to her. I am desperate now, raking the rocky crags above the beach with my eyes, searching for her, needing her. 

When I see her, I have no thought but to reach her, and then I am in the water. The weight of my armor pulls me immediately down, but I kick fiercely, casting off my helm as I scrabble onto the nearest rock. The surface is so smooth I nearly slip back into the water, but I manage to drag my weight onto it. I look up to where I can see a white figure perched on the edge of the cliff a good distance above me. Her long, slender legs are draped over the cliff-face, bare and pale and glistening with anklets of gold.

Without resting, I begin to climb, heaving myself from rock to rock, sliding ungracefully time and time again, but never stopping. The fire in my blood is pulsating, compelling me towards her voice. It seems she never even stops to breathe, she just continues to sing in her ethereal language, sing to me—for me. I can now hear the tinkling accompaniment of a string instrument, soft and chiming, but nothing in comparison to her voice. 

My trousers are too tight, my mail and weapons too heavy, my brain addled as if with a fever, but still I climb. Water cascades off me, dripping from my soaking clothes and hair and beard, but nothing can stop me now. I am so close I can hear the bit of humming she makes between phrases, and even her humming is so sensual I can barely climb for how hard I have become. 

I look up to her again and she is so close, nearly within reach, her voice filling me up and carrying me now. Another few feet and I am scaling the final crag, pulling my weary, aching, yearning body onto the highest peak where she sits.

Finally, I find that my body can cease, can take a vital moment to recover as I kneel there and stare at her, sitting merely a few paces from me, naked and paler than newly-fallen snow. All I can do is breathe as she ends her song—not bothered by my presence but finishing the melody as though this is precisely where it was meant to be concluded. The notes die off with a pang of sorrow, no break in the haunting melody. When it is quiet, her full, succulent lips press together in a coy smile as she turns to me, meeting my eyes with ones of verdant green. 

She is stunning; the very sight of her must be a curse. Her raven hair is sleek and long, tumbling in sable waves over her shoulders and down her back. Her breasts are bared, plump and round, the pert nipples small and rosy. Her narrow waist is wrapped with a few belts of gold chain and pearls, and her supple, creamy thighs are parted just so I can snare a glimpse of tempting pink inside. She is utterly hairless, her flesh as smooth as the stone she perches upon. In her hands she clutches a golden lyre, and each willowy finger is adorned with a jeweled ring, the delicate wrists holding a dozen or more golden bangles each. About her swan-like neck are numerous strings of pearls and gemstone necklaces. About her brow is a curious but striking tiara of gold with intricate scrollwork. It is tipped with the horns of some unknown beast, the ridges coiled with chains of gold, the ends of which tangle in her hair along with more pearls and strings of circular gold plates. 

I have no words to say, no real thoughts in my head as I watch her begin to pluck the strings on the lyre again, her fingers nimble, graceful. She opens her mouth and starts to sing a new song, but I can bear it no longer.

I lunge for her, my hands clamping about her arms with bruising strength. She drops her lyre over the edge of the cliff, seemingly by accident, but neither of us pay it any mind as I throw her beneath me, spreading her legs open with my knees and bearing down on her small body with my brawn. My drenched cloak shrouds us, and the water from my hair drips onto her face, but she neither flinches nor shies away. She simply looks up at me, her eyes shaming every emerald she wears.

Before I know anything else, I am kissing her, delving deep into the hot cavern of her flawless mouth and finding it sweeter than the ripest fruit. I hold down her wrists but she does not fight me, her body leaning into me, her mouth accepting. I ravish it. I roll my tongue against hers and tangle my fingers in her long ebony hair, fisting pearls and gold along with it. My other hand tears open my trousers, eagerly freeing myself to the warm tropical air and rubbing my swollen tip between her thighs, seeking her soft, pink folds. She lets out a tiny gasp within my mouth, the only sound she has made other than her singing, and it lights my veins afire. I prod against her there, feeling her thighs open further, and groan when I discover she is wet for me.

I withdraw from her lips to suck a mark into the white column of her neck. One of my hands snakes around her waist to lift her lower body closer to me. I pause, I wait again for her to fight, to speak, but her only response is to thread her long fingers in my hair and take hold, so I slam my hips forward, plunging inside her all the way to the hilt. She gasps, tossing her head back and pushing her breasts out. I take them roughly in my hands and she gasps again, so I begin to move, rutting mindlessly, frantically, groaning when each thrust meets wet heat and tightness. She is like an unspoiled virgin girl, yet I encounter no resistance, feel no maidenhead rupture in my wake. This excites me and somehow I move in her still faster, harder, as if I may split her in half, and still she does not fight or even speak against me. 

She revels in my taking of her, bringing our mouths together again to kiss, this time exploring me with her tongue, seeking with possessive verve to know me as I would know her. I growl in my throat and fuck into her violently, having no idea how I possibly contain the strength to do so, but it matters not. Her bejeweled arms slither about my neck, her eyes burning for me, and I cannot help but want to taste her in every way possible. I run my tongue eagerly down her neck and chest, seeking a puckered nipple. I lick her here, circling and nipping before I suck, and this time I hear her purr approvingly, the throaty sound tugging at my belly and making my manhood jerk needfully inside her. 

With a growl, I push myself up and grab hold of each of her thighs, lifting and pressing them to her chest, splaying her apart both for my view and my cock. I fuck her this way, looking from where our bodies meet with harsh, hammering strokes, up to her wanton face. When her tongue darts forth to lick her lips, I moan, nearly whimpering as my end approaches. She kisses me again, lapping at my lips and chin and neck like a hungry animal. 

It is then that I feel two sharp pricks at my throat. The pain lances through me just as brutally as the pleasure, and out of habit I attempt to pull out as I feel myself ending, but her ankles hook around my backside and she digs her heels in, forcing me deeper, not letting me. I offer no arguments, crying out as I release inside her, my hips convulsing as I spill my seed in burst after burst. It has been so long since I have had a woman that it nearly brings tears to my eyes.

My spent body drops onto hers but she shows no discomfort. The dagger-like pain is still embedded in my neck and I fidget at first, pulling her, but she is wrapped around me and will not let go. I tug at her hair now and realize it is her teeth in my flesh, pouring what feels like molten iron into my blood. I can feel her lips sucking, hear her throat swallowing, and though I should feel horror I feel only the slightest confusion. I try halfheartedly to banish her, but soon my body fails me and I do not fight it. My limbs give out entirely and I slump atop her, still inside her as the pain dulls every one of my senses and my consciousness fades. Blackness gathers all around me, shrouding me as if night has fallen, and then I feel nothing at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor wakes to find himself naked and trapped in the Siren's haven, and his first thought is to finish his mission--he must kill the monster. Despite what he intends, things do not go at all as planned.

When I come to, I am firstly aware of the lingering, burning ache in my body, as if I have been cut open in a thousand places. Secondly, I realize that my other senses have returned, freed from their earlier numbness, freed from her spell. I can think clearly, and I immediately curse.

Looking about, I see that there is a fire burning in a pit off to my right. I am near enough to feel its warmth without feeling pain. I blink my eyes into focus, staring up at a ceiling of dangling, sparkling stone high, high above me. There is an opening large enough for a man to pass through, and it lets in dim, bluish light, just enough to allow me sight. The walls are the same smooth, black stone as the cliffs, and I assume I must be in a cave somewhere beneath.

I groan at the lasting fire in my limbs, opening and closing my fists, wiggling my toes, and see that I am intact and uninjured, but also stark naked beneath a strange fur. I sit up, running my hand over the golden, speckled pelt, wondering what manner of creature it came from. Underneath me is another curious pelt, this one tawny with haphazard striping. Just a glance about reveals that these are not the only exotic fares I find myself among.

The cave is very nearly overflowing with treasure. Casks of gold and gems are piled everywhere, pouring out, and still more riches litter the floor in great heaps. There are rolls of fine silks and more furs, chests of jewels, hoards of fine silver dishes, and mountains of coins. “Dear Valhalla…” I exhale. There is more wealth than I have ever seen, ever imagined—more wealth than my father’s vaults could ever contain. 

I shake myself from this distraction. I am alive, and I am cured of the Siren’s bewitching song. I must find her and I must kill her before it takes hold of me again. 

I manage to get to my feet, though my legs are shaky and my belly weak with sickness and hunger. I leave the fur where it is, uncaring of my nudity. I notice my clothing is hung about on a frame of sticks and posts by the fire, drying, but I have no time to bother with it. I take my axe from my belt and make my way through the cave, following the sound of water, hoping for an exit.

I move as silently as I can, creeping between piles of treasure and jutting rock formations, until I come upon her. She is sitting on the edge of a clear blue pool, her legs submerged, her white back to me. The jewels and horned crown are gone from her hair, and I see she is running an ivory comb through it. She hums as she works, each pull of the teeth baring her white back to my eyes. I can hear little splashes as her legs sway beneath the water. She still wears the remainder of her gold and jeweled adornments, and now and then they reflect the meager light of the cave. I see there is no mouth to the cave, no way for me to leave without diving into the pool and seeking an escape that way.

She is not paying attention, and although her humming is pleasing, it holds no enchantment, no bewitching pull. My hand tightens on the haft of my axe. If I lunge forward, I can kill her with a single blow. She is unawares, and I am very good with my weapon. I have felled grown men with only one strike before, so her slender neck will be no match. I tense as if to make my move, but I hesitate.

Perhaps it is her beauty or her humming, but I take a moment to consider, and decide that I am glad I do. As it stands, I have no sure way out of this cave. It could be that only a brief swim separates me from the surface, or it could be that the way out is more precise, and without a guide I may risk drowning before I find the proper path. There may be another exit further back in the cave, but can I gamble my life on it? I begin to wonder just how she brought me here, how she carried me alone. There has to be an easy way out, but knowing her wickedness, her wiles, it will not be easy to find. 

I realize I have missed my chance, as the Siren has cocked her head, allowing me to see a single green eye fixated on me. I growl and lift my axe as a warning. “Woman,” I say, “I demand to know why you have brought me here.” She says nothing, merely sets aside the comb and takes her legs from the water, gathering them under her. “Answer me, woman! I will not be ignored by the likes of you!”

“How can I rightly answer,” came a reply, in a voice I did not expect, “when I am not a woman?” 

The white figure stands, turning to face me, and I see very clearly that it is male. The trunk is more solidly built, the shoulders broader, the hips narrower, and he has a manhood of rather healthy resting girth tucked between his thighs. How could I have mistaken him for a woman? But upon inspection, I find his frame slender and shapely, his flesh the same pristine white, his hair the same tumble of ebony. It frames his face, a face masculine and angular, but still smooth—the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on. His eyes are the familiar flashing green as well, but this cannot be the same being I encountered on the cliff-face. Her image would be forever emblazoned in my eyes, in my body. I can still feel the taut embrace of her womanhood, the softness of her breasts. 

I snarl, “Who are you?”

“Have you forgotten me already?” His voice is too sensual, too silky, to be a man’s, yet I clearly see that it is. “I had thought I made a rather good impression upon you, out there on my cliff overlooking the sea.”

“You lie,” I bark, brandishing my axe. “The creature I encountered there was a woman, a witch that I have been seeking for over a year. Tell me where I can find her!”

He smiles, showing a hint of white teeth. “You are amusing indeed,” he says. “This ‘witch’ you speak of…I am she, and she is me.” He gives a slight wave of his hand, from head to hip, and his male form shifts into that of the singing woman from the rocks. I feel my blood race again, my groin eagerly approving, but I bite back on the impulse. She shifts back to male form with a retracting gesture, his smug grin returning. “Do you see now?”

“What are you?” I demand.

“I am called Loki,” he says.

“What is a Loki?”

He chuckles, a derisive sound, and puts a hand to his hip. “I am Loki, that is all you need know.” 

He smoothes his cascade of hair back from his face, letting it fall to frame his shoulders, and my eyes are momentarily drawn to it. His hair appears just as glossy and pitch as it was in his female form, and briefly I find my hands urging to plunge through it, but I shake the ludicrous thought away. I notice there is a bruise on his neck, the same place I gave the woman a bruise with my mouth. I do not want to believe it.

“Who are you, then, my brave warrior?” he asks.

“What right have you to know my name, fiend?” 

He chuckles again, waving me off as if I am being childish. “I gave you mine. It is only fair that you give me yours in return.” He looks at me then with hooded eyes. “Of course, perhaps you have given me more than enough already?”

I shudder, losing my temper from his implications. “Enough, wretch! I would no sooner lie with you than I would a swine!”

“I think you may wish to reconsider such a bold statement.” 

I follow his eyes down and see that I am half-hard, my cock twitching in desperate need of attention. I growl at him, twisting my fist around my axe. “What have you done to me, monster?”

“Nothing much,” he replies, casually, and picks up a satchel from the waterside before he begins to walk into the cave. He gives me a wide berth, but is seemingly unafraid. 

“Explain yourself!”

“Come, you must be hungry.” He returns to the fire and begins to empty his satchel of fish, placing them onto a pallet of seaweed, then guts them expertly with a jewel-encrusted knife and sets them on pikes to cook. I follow warily, watching his actions, keeping my eyes on his hands so as to avoid his careless nudity.

“You think I would eat food offered to me by a witch?”

The man, Loki, merely shrugs, his back turned to me, and his fearlessness irritates me. “I cannot force you to eat, though I know you are very nearly starving. But if you think it over, I have done you no harm. What cause have you to mistrust me?”

“Done me no harm!” I exclaim. “You bit me—and you have stranded me in this place against my will!”

“Only for my own protection.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “You notice I have left you all your weapons, and already you have taken up arms against me. Do you think I would allow such a thing without taking precautions?”

“You think yourself safe in your little cave, wretch? I could split your skull in twain this instant.” I move as if to do so, but he merely smiles at me, and I realize that truthfully, I have no desire at all to cause him harm. I look from him to my hand that wields my trusted axe, but I cannot fathom any want to kill him at all. “What sorcery is this?” I ask, staring at my weapon as if it has betrayed me.

“Sorcery in fact,” Loki replies, settling on one of the strange animal pelts near the fire. Slowly, I sit on the one I was formerly lying upon, my axe still in my hand and my eyes steady on him. I put a good two arm’s length between us. “You need not look so dubious,” he says, picking up one of the fish and poking at it before handing it to me. I frown, but take it. “I mean you no harm, warrior.”

“I can believe no such thing,” I protest, looking him over once again. I am rather ashamed of how enticing I find him even in his man’s shape. Truly, he is not human if he can evoke such temptation. “You are in fact the woman who sings upon the rocks?”

“Shall I sing for you, to prove it?”

“Nay,” I grunt, taking a cautious sniff of the fish. There are no strange odors, so I bite into it. My stomach cramps from hunger so I eat a bit more readily. He watches me do so with half-lidded green eyes, as if the sight pleases him. “If you admit you are she, then you also admit that you are the cause of countless men’s deaths.”

“Do I?”

“There are scores of sunken ships in your lagoon!” I shout. “I saw them myself! And all this treasure you hoard had to come from somewhere, did it not?”

“Is it my fault so many reckless sailors risk the deadly rocks that surround my island?”

“They would not do so if you did not conjure storms to bring them here.”

He raises a brow at me, not touching any of the fish himself. “You know for a fact that I conjured storms?”

“You obviously know magic.”

“But no such storm brought you to me,” he replies, offering a harmless gesture. “So how can you be certain? Storms do occur naturally, do they not? They are not all the fault of sorcerers.”

“I was told that it was you,” I say, not backing down.

“Told by whom?”

“By a man who narrowly survived your clutches. ‘Tis how I found this place.”

“So you hold the tale of a single man to be the absolute truth? You are not very wise, for a prince.”

I fist my hand on my axe again. “How did you know I am a prince?”

“Come now. Who else but royalty would wear such precious garments, or carry himself with such arrogant, expectant bearing?”

“I could be a king.”

Loki outright laughs at this. “You? I think not.”

I growl, throwing the fish into the fire in a rage. “You will take care how you speak, wretch!”

“I would prefer Loki,” he replies, and calmly hands me another fish. I settle myself back down and take it, chewing irritably. “My, you do have a temper about you.”

“Tell me what you meant when you said you were safe here.”

“Very well. I have made it so no harm may come to me in my haven. So long as you are within these cavern walls, you cannot lift a finger to injure me.”

“Absurd!” I exclaim.

“It began on the cliffs, with my song,” he explains. “First I lure you in, then I give you a taste, and then I seal the spell in blood. Once you enter here, the circle is complete.”

“Why do you so fear harm? You are a man.”

He chuckles. “Observant of you. Yes, I am, but usually I am not. You are the first I have encountered who wished me as such.”

“You will not speak thusly! I have no desire for you, foul creature! My touch was given in falsehood, and to a woman!”

“Yes, I usually take the form of a woman in order to entice sailors. Obviously, this worked on you easily enough, but when I drank your blood, I took in a bit of you, and found that when free from my song, you would prefer me this way.”

Now I am livid, the veins on my neck all but bulging as I bare my teeth. “You dare? You dare accuse Thor Odinson, prince of Asgard, to be a lover of men? A coward? Argr?”

“I did not accuse you of anything.” He crooks a smile and looks over at me. “But now you have told me your name.”

I balk, my tongue unsure of itself as I sit in impotent fury. I realize that he is correct about the spell; I truly can muster no physical want to hurt him, though the thought is manic in my mind, but my cock is straining now, curving up to my belly and beginning to weep in nagging eagerness. What madness is this? 

Loki places his hand upon my knee and I startle, dropping both axe and fish. “Calm yourself, Thor Odinson,” he whispers, crawling bonelessly across the furs to me. “I did not say you do not have love of women. Indeed, you certainly do—and doubtlessly you have had many in your life—but my seidr, my ‘magic’ as you call it, cannot lie. When I tasted you, it whispered to me that you would like me in this form, and so this is the form I took. For you.”

“Why?” I ask, frustrated at my helplessness, my lack of control. “Why am I here at all, alive? You could have killed me and taken any of my possessions for yourself. What will you do with me now? Save one who was driven mad by it, no men have ever returned from your island.”

He crouches beside me, leaning down to place his hands upon my shoulders and whisper in my ear. “No men have ever wished to.”

His breath is shockingly cold, as are his thin hands as they begin to wander my heaving chest. I let out a gasp as they brush my nipples, making them go taut in an instant, inducing a shiver. He immediately circles them with his thumbs, meanwhile craning his long neck so he can kiss along my shoulder, his tongue flickering forth now and then like a serpent’s. 

My hands are brutal fists at my sides, digging into the exotic fur beneath me to keep from touching him. And I so want to touch him. I want to explore every plane of his white skin, his lean muscle, any outline of fine bone, with my hands and then with my mouth. I want to smell his hair and twine the pearls and chains that enwrap him in my fingers until they are imprinted there. I want to force his glorious, manipulative voice to break for me.

Loki’s cold, indulging mouth is on my chest now, his curtain of silken hair slipping from his shoulder to tumble against me. I bite my teeth together hard to resist the impulse to grab and tug it with my hands. He finds a pebbled nipple and flicks out that tongue of his again, lathing me there until he sucks it into his mouth. I tilt my head, letting out a withheld breath, and he bites as he draws away, making me grunt. He chuckles, and the sound rolls around in my head like a palpable softness, leeching away more and more of my strength to resist him. It is evident indeed that his heathen magicks have locked away my fury in a place I cannot reach. 

He lifts his head to be even with mine, and the scent of his breath is sweet when it drifts to me. He leans in close and then we are breathing together, his hands raking my hair and then scraping over my beard, bringing me to him as he spreads his legs around me, straddling my lap. The firm roundness of his buttocks settles on my thighs. 

I eliminate the distance between us by clasping him in both arms and engulfing his mouth with mine. He makes a low, keening sound in the back of his throat and rolls his hips forward, sliding our manhoods together, slickening them in premature wetness. I recoil on impulse to feel another man’s desire press so to mine. I grunt in protest, rethinking myself, but this witch, this beautiful, terrible, otherworldly creature simply cups my face in his cool hands and my thoughts grow dull and muddled.

“Why deny what you want?” he asks. The question is posed with such softness, but it crushes me beneath its weight. “What is it you fear, Odinson?” I cringe at the sound and he notices, letting out a knowing hum as his long fingers begin to caress my face, delicately, comfortingly. “Ah, so it is the reproach of your kinsman that you fear.”

“I fear nothing,” I retort, but it is spoken through my teeth.

“Hmm. Why concern yourself with an old man’s insecure vanities?” he asks, with such straightforward logic. “He is oceans away… Worlds apart. He can no longer condemn or admonish you as if you were a boy. He cannot undermine your feats, degrade your valor by comparing you to those lesser. None can tamper with your honor here, Thor Odinson.” 

“How—do you know me?” I choke out.

Loki slinks in against me again, flushing our bodies together gently, smoothly, and I feel his breath trickle along my pulse before it drifts in my ear. “I would never treat you as any less than the fierce and virile warrior you are. ‘Tis how I was able to bring you here with my song—only the strongest, most steadfast of mortal men can even hear it. The weak and the weary could never find their way to me. My voice does not reach them.”

I clasp my hands against his narrow back. “Truly?” I ask.

“Oh yes…” He hisses the final word, drawing it out in a whisper that wracks my body with heady chills. 

My hands begin to wander before I even realize, smoothing the expanse of his back and gliding through his long dark hair. “But why? For what purpose?” I question again, leaning to inhale against the silky locks that fall across his temple. He smells new and exotic, a sultry aroma that induces my mouth to water. 

He does not answer; instead I feel his tongue graze the inner shell of my ear before he delivers a firm nip to the lobe. I arch into him, holding him to me and exploring with my own mouth his cheek, ear, jaw, and slender neck. When I start to suckle he sighs, and the sound of it tightens my groin. 

And then with just the smallest roll of his hips, the hardness of his cock meets mine again and something snaps. I lunge forward to crush him beneath me on the furs, our lips colliding so hard that I feel teeth and taste the tang of blood. This brings a sudden and loud moan from his throat and he latches onto me, licking into my mouth and enwrapping me in his willowy limbs, like the coils of a nest of snakes. This brings our manhoods to press and slide again, white-hot and slick, and this time it takes many moments for me to pause. 

Loki is kissing me deeply, with a hungry enthusiasm I have never imagined could be coupled so perfectly with the indulgent precision of his every move. The generous sweeps of his tongue threaten to buckle my knees, and his taste simply cannot be real. It is not like a mouth at all, but a heated trove of the sweetest nectars—ripe fruit, buttermilk, honey. He is beyond my ability to resist, and I find that I am eagerly rutting against him now, our cocks slipping over one another, imposing delicious friction that can never be enough.

I depart the sweetness of his mouth to suck and bite cruel marks into his neck. I listen to him keen and coo in sequence as I seek more from his sensual body, my hands searching out where I need to go. I brush against the small, puckered opening with a fingertip and his spine bends, tossing his head against the pallet beneath us. His reaction alone compels me to push a finger inside, momentarily battled by the taut ring of muscle, but soon enough welcomed. Loki moans, letting his arms fall to either side of his head, his long nails twining in his curtain of hair and digging at the fur.

I do as I might with a particularly pleasing maiden and retract my finger only to thrust it back in, bringing subdued cries from him each time I do as such. It is not wet here as with a woman—the usual manner in which I take women. At times, I have opted to prefer this method of coupling, so as not to risk making a child, but I never once contemplated doing so with a man, in a context other than conquest on the battlefield.

But there is something about Loki that tempts me too far.

I pull away long enough to spit in my hand, using it to more easily enter him, and this time adding a second finger. Loki outright groans, begging for more, so finally I put an end to all play and spit again before I take my cock in hand. I fear I am not nearly as slick as I need be, but neither of us seems eager to object as I rub against his opening in slow circles, uncertain of so much even as I swallow the fount of saliva that has pooled in my mouth. It is as if I would devour him like a victory feast.

Yet still, something stays me. “Loki,” I say.

Something menacing flickers in his emerald eyes as he looks up at me, but it cools and softens so quickly I must have imagined it. “What stills you, warrior?” he asks. “You know where you urge to be, is that not so?” He licks his pale lips with a tongue far too red. “Take what you want, as all men with such power as yours rightly do.” 

His words are like fine wine, and I would become drunk with them if I could, but something persists. “Is this not…a dishonor to you?” I question, and this time he looks confused. “You are a man, yes? No matter what other shape you take. Is this not an affront to your manhood, to be treated thus as a woman?”

To my surprise, Loki throws his head back and laughs. “You mortals…” he says, still chuckling. “Petty nonsense abounds from the lot of you!”

“What is petty about wishing not to deface your honor as a man?”

He chuckles a final time before he lifts his head, bending his elbow and leaning his cheek on one hand. “I do not conform to your simple mortal ideas of honor,” he says, “nor do I do the same with your limited boundaries of sex.” 

“I do not understand.”

“Male, female—I can be either, or I can be both. It is as simple as breathing to me. I am not confined to any one gender, let alone any one body. I am a seiðkona, what you might call a witch, but in my world it means infinitely more than you can understand. I can be many things; so much more than just a man or a woman.”

“More? How can there be more?”

He pulls my face to his and kisses me. “Hush now, warrior. Do such things truly matter to you now?” He locks his ankles over my backside and tugs, using a devious hand to guide my leaking crown inside his body. I let out a vicious groan at the abrupt heat that enshrouds me. “Or is this what matters?”

My hips compulsively jerk forward, lancing me deeper inside the hottest part of him, and we both let out a stuttered cry. Our eyes meet and I cannot resist moving inside him. I retract slowly, too slowly to bear, and he runs his tongue over his finger as he watches me. I press achingly slowly back inside, and his spine arcs as his silver voice sings a new song for me. I cannot fathom how tight his body is, so much tighter than when he was a woman, and the pleasure is immediate and dizzying. There is no hesitation left anywhere in me as I lose myself and begin to heave us together and apart, slamming my hips recklessly forward and back, drinking in his breathy sighs, pondering if there is magick in them also.

“Oh,” he is whispering, with just the edge of a moan. The melody of it makes my bones soft. “Do you still resent me in this shape, Odinson?”

“Do not call me that,” I groan into his sable hair, taking a fist full of it. “Call me Thor.”

He snorts a chuckle, and even that is lovely to hear. “Not Prince Thor? Or My Lord Thor?”

“No. Just Thor.”

“Hmmm.” The softness of his cheek presses to mine before I feel his tongue roll against my ear. “I like that.” Then he bites. I grunt from the pain and my next thrust is harder, still deeper, and Loki all but purrs. He kisses and licks down the side of my neck, stopping to suckle, and it distracts me before I recall the way he bit me atop the cliff. I tug his hair violently, making him face me, my eyes both stern and clouded with lust.

“No more tricks, witch,” I command. 

“Of course not,” he replies, and I do not believe him for an instant. “My only thought was giving you pleasure.” His hands squeeze my buttocks, nails digging in, and my anger crumples. He wraps me up in his legs and keeps us face to face where I can see him, but his emerald eyes are alight with mischief. He will be the end of me if I let him. 

In only another moment I am doubling my pace, jerking my knees forward to hike up his legs and give me a cleaner angle to bury myself in him. Those burning, malicious eyes melt away and he tosses his head back, his next moan undoing me. I convulse, my hips shuddering as I spill deeply inside him.

He coos, his hand gliding through my hair as we both collapse. I pant, and each breath is filtered through his sweet-scented hair. I mouth as his hairline as I push up on my elbows, kissing his cheekbone and finding that he has hardly sweated at all. 

Loki’s hand combs through my hair before curling against my scalp. “You mortal men…always so selfish.”

“What say you?” I demand, offended after the performance I have just given.

Loki takes my hand and guides it down between his legs, to where he is still hot and hard. “You are not the only one with a cock at the moment, remember?”

I flinch, still unnerved about that fact. In the midst of fucking it was easy to forget, but now, with my hand full of his swollen length… “What shall I do?”

He smirks at me, and it seems mocking, but then he brings me close to kiss me. He moves my hand with his, guiding me slowly along him. “Have you never touched yourself, warrior?”

“Thor.”

His eyes narrow. “Have you never touched yourself, Thor?”

“Of course I have, but what—”

“Then touch me just the same… Show me what you like…”

I feel creases mark my brow, my reluctance still present but less prominent. He is simply too tempting, and his earlier words have not stopped rolling around in my head. 

“Why deny what you want?”

“Why concern yourself with an old man’s insecure vanities?”

“The weak and the weary could never find their way to me.”

“Take what you want, as all men with such power as yours rightly do.” 

I tighten my hold on his manhood and his expression flinches with it, an arched, ebony brow lifting, daring, and I find myself smirking before I stroke firmly from base to tip. At his crown I press with my thumb, nudging the velvet of his foreskin down the shaft, circling the weeping head with rough, unrelenting force. He is groaning and then gasping, his hips beginning to thrust with my movements until he breaks down into a writhing mess. 

His fingers are clawing into the flesh of my scalp and back, opening it up in trenches that I know are filling with blood but I do not stop or slow until he keens desperately, his prick twitching, his hips bucking, and slicks my hand and his own chest in his seed. He falls into a puddle of skin right after, chasing his breath. 

I release my hold and look down at the wetness between my fingers. I lift it to my lips and tentatively lick—it tastes as sweet as the rest of him. Strange, but I am not surprised. 

“…You seem to have overcome your shyness,” Loki is saying, his nails retracting from my skin. He smoothes his palms over my back, and uses a foot to tease the inside of my knee. “Are you certain…you have had no males before now?”

“I have had only those who dishonored themselves in battle,” I say, sharply. “It is not the same thing.”

He chuckles, and traces my lips with the tip of his finger, leaving a smear of my blood. “Do not be angry again so quickly… I thought things were going well.”

I sit up, growling, and wipe my hand off on the fur before I pull him off the ground by his neck. “What is it that is going so well?” I demand. “Why have you lured me here? Why have you lured all those men here…?”

“For a warrior, you have no sense of adventure.” He pushes away from me and gets to his feet, tossing his long curtain of hair behind his back. My seed begins to trickle from his reddened hole, making a trail down his inner thigh, and for a moment my concentration is snared.

In another moment I stand with a snarl, taking his arm in my hand. “Answer me, witch. Is this your aim? To lure men here and take them to your bed, use them as you like? Can your motives be so petty? And if so…where are they?”

“When I was done with them, I bid them leave me be. Not a one of them turned out to be satisfying in the end. All such disappointments. You… You have potential…” Loki slinks in against me, and then his hands are on my chest, curling against the blonde hair there. “You are much better than the rest of them… Warriors they claimed to be, but in they end they had no honor, no decency. They were…”

Loki suddenly looks away, his face tightening, as if he’d been hit. Something in that look, in the way his verdant eyes dim, that makes me reach out and touch his chin. “They were what?”

He laughs it off, the smile returning to his eyes. “…They were cruel.”

I study his face. Is this a lie? Is this an attempt to manipulate me? “What do you mean, cruel?”

“You human males… You treat your women very poorly when you believe you have a claim upon them. This is the first time I have taken a male shape with one of my…guests. You have treated me with much more respect than any of your fellows ever treated me as a woman.”

My eyes narrow. “Were you beaten?”

Loki looks away. “Your clothing should be dry now.”

I glance over at my clothes hanging near the fire, and then I look back at him. This can’t possibly be what this is all about, can it? This island, the storm, the song, the spell… Is this all an elaborate scheme for finding an ideal companion? 

“What if I have no desire to clothe myself yet?” I ask.

His smile is both sly and sensual.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor learns more about his strange, otherworldly host, but the more he learns, the more he questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I thought I would make one more post before I have to leave for Dragon*Con! Thank you so much everyone for reading this it makes me so happy ^3^ If you are enjoying Stormbringer I would really appreciate it if you followed me on tumblr: http://singleorganicmachine.tumblr.com/
> 
> And also I have a tumblr where I RP Loki if anyone wants to drop by with an ask or a prompt! http://king-of-mischief.tumblr.com/
> 
> I'd really love more people to play with as Loki :) Thanks everyone!! <3

I wake drowsily to the smell of lingering sweetness and roasting fish. My nostrils flare and my stomach cramps immediately, before my eyes even pry apart. I groan, rolling over in the furs and instinctively reaching out to find another body. Loki is gone from my side, but of course it is he who is cooking, turning two very fat, colorful fish over the fire. I notice the hole in the ceiling of the cavern is perfect for letting out the smoke.

I sit up with a yawn, stretching my worn muscles and scratching my chest. The hair there is matted from sweat and seed, and my skin is marred with sucking bruises and claw marks. I rake my hands through my mussed hair, trying to rouse my tired limbs into action. 

Loki and I had rutted together for hours, exploring every measure of the other’s body. I am still unnerved by how much I enjoy him as a man, and am having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that perhaps I always have…enjoyed men. I certainly never argued when it came time to deliver the due punishment to cowards and traitors after a victory. Of course, there is good reason for the rape of betrayers and those who surrender rather than die gloriously in battle—by making them ergi their honor is ruined, and a warrior’s untainted honor is what carries him to Valhalla. As heir to Asgard, I ever had the honor of first rape, but I am starting to think there was much more to it than that for me.

“What rusty wheels are turning in your thick head…Thor?” I look over to see Loki crouched by the fire, eyeing me with a smile. He is still stark naked, even though he has obviously been awake for some time. All of his jewels and gold trappings are gone, leaving his pallor unblemished.

I groan again and stand, going over to gather my clothing. I replace only enough to cover myself, as it is comfortably warm here. “Why do you not wear clothing? Is this another method of keeping your men heeled?”

Loki chuckles. “Why are you complaining?”

“Because it is indecent. You yourself complained of men’s indecency, yet you strut about naked as a babe.”

“My kind do not wear your trivial clothing. We do not need it.”

“Your kind.” I sit beside him near the fire after dumping my cloak over his shoulders. Seeing him naked is far too distracting. “What exactly…are you, then?”

He adjusts the fur around his shoulders and prods at the cooking meat. “I am—Or I was—a Jotun.”

My eyes blow wide and I blurt out, “A demon of Jotunheim?” I snap my jaws shut at the outburst, quieting myself. “Nay, that is impossible… They all died out long ago, in the first age of the Realms…”

“Most of us did die, yes.” My demon comment seems not to addle him. He cuts out a thick pink chunk of the roasted fish and I begin to eat. “We were hunted and slaughtered like livestock by you humans… We were driven from our homes and systematically eliminated, village by village, until our…I suppose you would say king, hatched a very desperate plan, our last chance. Instead of fighting back and dying until the very last, we would change our shapes and vanish from the world of man. We would go where he could not follow and begin our kingdom again.”

“Go where? This island? Are there more of you here?”

“No, the sea.”

“The sea…?” 

“This island is mine. My people, what is left of them, live in a kingdom of ice and stone at the bottom of the sea. None but me have ever returned to the surface. The king forbade it long ago.”

“Then why did you disobey him?”

“…It was not by choice. I was banished. He placed upon me a curse so that I cannot return home.”

“Why were you banished?”

“Why so interested?”

“Why so secretive, Trickster?”

“A Trickster, am I?” He smirks. “Very well, if I tell you of myself, then you must tell me more of you. Agreed?”

I pause, but I am too curious to refuse. “Agreed.”

“…I dared to speak out against…the king. With age, he had grown arrogant, cruel—cruel even in the face of the injustices we suffered. I demanded that he name a successor and relinquish the throne he has kept a desperate death-grip on all these hundreds of years. His time is done and we need new insight, new leadership. He is a selfish fool who does nothing but cling to harmful traditions while his kingdom crumbles and his people inbreed to the point of deformation and madness. So few of our young live past infancy… It was clearly time for change, but the old fool was far too content in his seat of power to see it.” 

I find myself biting my lip, thinking of my own king… My father; white-bearded and barely able to lift his spear. A warlord who can no longer go to war, and so sends his sons in his place without even acknowledging their prowess beyond what glory it may bring to his own name. He has given up the honor of battle, yet never does he remove his crown except to sleep. 

“For daring to voice such things, I was banished,” Loki explains.

I contemplate these things while I eat. Perhaps we have more in common than I thought possible. If so, then surely he will not want me prodding further just yet. I decide to honor his forthcoming by changing the subject. “Loki, you said changing forms came easily to you.” He raises a brow and nods. “Surely you cannot survive at the bottom of the sea as you are now—a man just as I. What form did you take then, in the sea?”

“I have many forms, and I can change them freely, but we Jotnar do have a true form.”

I notice he does not once reach for his own food. “What does that look like? Show me.”

Loki hesitates. “No one has ever asked this of me.”

“I am curious.”

“You will not like it. It is not…human.”

“I think at this point I am fairly aware that you are not human,” I say. “Show me.” 

“No.” He stubbornly prods at the fire. 

“Do so and I will answer any question you like. Anything at all.”

“…Very well, I will not show you my true form, but I will show you something close to it. I do not wish your delicate human mind to be frightened.” 

I am glaring indignantly as Loki stands, banishing my fur from his shoulders, and motions for me to follow him to the other end of the cavern, where I first saw him again after the cliffs. I find myself momentarily distracted by the half-circle impressions in his buttocks, and the marks my teeth have left on his shoulder. He wades into the water of the pool, and then glances back at me before diving in. When he resurfaces, he is changed.

Loki has now taken on several attributes of a fish—he has fins lining his arms and his ears, and his eyes have gotten a bit bigger, rounder. He swims up to me in the shallows, and I can see his long fish’s tail stretching out behind him. It is covered in glittering emerald scales. He puts his hands on the sides and his fingers are tipped with long black claws, and between each of them is a thin membrane of flesh, like a toad. He has gill slits along each side of his neck, but otherwise his build, skin, and hair are the same. He still looks himself; he is still Loki.

“Well?” he asks, resting at the shore. His fishtail swishes back and forth in the water behind him. “How hideous do you find me?”

“For truth…I do not,” I say, and even I am surprised. “To think, the Jotnar whom all the world believe extinct are now the merrows of legend that sailors tell tales of…”

“Not exactly. I told you, this is as close to my true form as I will reveal to you. It is still…rather human. Human enough that you do not cringe, I see. These ‘merrows’ must be a common tale.”

“Amongst men of the sea, yes.” I toe off my boots and sit on the smooth rock shore, putting my feet in the water. A chest of gems is sitting near me, so I take it and dig around until I find a necklace of black pearls. “Though when they tell them, the merrows are always women. The stories say that they like to drown fishermen who dare to catch them in their nets.”

“Rest assured, I have never done that…though I have never been caught in a net, so I cannot say whether or not I would.”

I find myself laughing, imagining cunning Loki all bunched up in a fisherman’s trap, his tail folded over his head and his face livid. “Is this how you brought me here, from the cliffs? You dragged me through the water? I would be too heavy for you otherwise.”

“You are sharper than I thought. Yes, after you lost consciousness I pushed you over the cliff and dove in, changing to this shape. I then carried you through the water to this cavern.”

“I could have drowned.”

“I was quick enough,” he says petulantly. “You are fine, though your metal clothing was most irritating.”

I snort, kicking in the water. “Warriors wear armor and mail—you should know that by now, as many as you have lured here.”

“I do know, but that does not mean I like to carry it.” He dives back in and then I feel cold hands on my feet. I look down, seeing the flash of his green eyes in the water. He nibbles my toes and I chuckle, trying to push him off, but he keeps nibbling up along the arch of my foot and ankle, and heat pools in my groin. What utter madness. As if I did not get my fill of him last night… My body is still aching from it. 

Loki glides out of the water, coming up between my legs, and I gather him in my arms as water rolls off his smooth white skin. I fasten the necklace about his throat, winding the long string a few times. I find I miss the gems and gold. Such grand, opulent things suit him, in my opinion.

He glances at it, touching it. “How flattering, to be gifted with that which is already mine.”

“Silence, witch. None of these treasures are yours. You stole them.” 

“Salvaged,” he corrects, and I know it is a challenge.

“And how many corpses have you discarded while ‘salvaging’ these ships?” He meets my stern stare equally sternly, and then he is shrugging. “I do not suppose you bothered to give any of them a proper burial?”

“Must we speak of men you have never even met? Truly, do you care for their fates, or do you care for you own?”

“I care for my own, but it is a matter of honor.”

“Honor,” he repeats. “Ah, yes… Such honor you have, my warrior… I can smell it on you…” He leans in closer. “Taste it.” We kiss, and I dare to run my palm over his new appendage. The scales are like chips of smoothened glass, and the shape of the tail is willowy and gossamer, like no fish I have ever seen. He wraps my neck in his arms and flicks water at me with his tail. 

“Cease that, pest. I have just put on dry clothes.”

He ignores me. “Tell me more about these merrows,” he says.

I am irritated to be waylaid with such a question, but I answer. “They are very beautiful. Fishermen cannot resist being drawn in when they catch them in their nets and snares, and by the time they realize there is danger…it is too late…” I look at him, pointedly, but he simply waves his hand and he shifts into his female body, though he still has the fish parts and the pearls. 

“Like this?”

I shiver at the sight of those tight, high breasts, the nipples pale pink and pebbled. The pearls now dangle between them. “Yes, I suppose… I have never seen one. They are stories told by drunken sailors in taverns, rarely corroborated.”

“Ah…but I am very real, hm?”

I stroke the tail again, and feel the ends of the delicate fins curl around my foot. “Yes, you are real.” My hand urges to cup a full breast, to take it in my mouth.

“Come here,” she purrs. “Come in the water with me.”

“So you can drag me under? Drown me for your amusement?” But even as I say it I am pulling off my tunic. 

She grins. “You have not snared me in a net, so what reason have I to drown you?” She rolls off my lap, splashing back in the water and coming up to spit a stream of it at me. “Enough of that!” I bark, though laughing, and stand to kick off my trousers before I jump in headfirst. She dives under to avoid the impact, and I laugh as I come up for air, mopping my hair out of my face. 

Loki follows, rolling her eyes. “Brute.” Her voice has the same nuances to it, the exact same manner of speech, but it is lyrical and lilting. I imagine this must be what Valkyries sound like when not on the battlefield… A Valkyrie in an intimate moment… A Valkyrie of the sea. 

“I thought you liked your men rather brutish,” I remark, and swim to her.

“It can have its advantages.” Her wet hands explore my chest as she speaks. Her claws curl and tug at the hair there before brushing over my nipples, hard from the cool water. I put an arm around her as I kick to stay afloat. I can feel her tail dragging back and forth beneath my legs. 

“What is it like?” I ask. “To be able to live beneath the seas? I have sailed the seas all my life, but I have never imagined life…below them.”

“It is…” She falters, looking down at the water. “It is cold and dark, but it is also quiet. Quiet and beautiful.”

“You miss it.”

She shrugs, but her sadness for some reason stings me. I lift her chin and kiss her frigid lips. She kisses back, though she seems distracted. “Come, swim. Swim with me,” she insists, and I have never seen her so…genuine. 

She dives under and slaps her tail against the water, dousing me and propelling herself halfway across the pool. I follow, my arms stroking awkwardly compared to her graceful motions. I have always believed myself a fine swimmer until now. The water is crystalline and eerily blue, and I cannot see where it bottoms out. It would take me several minutes to swim from end to end, despite my strength.

“Wait, curse you!” I call, becoming winded as she flits fluidly to and fro, not allowing me to catch up. It is like a dance.

She ducks back beneath the surface and in moments is circling me underwater, watching me with her big green eyes. Her palms smooth up along my thighs and hips, the tips of her claws leaving a raw tingling. My cock reawakens even with the cold of the water, and in surprise I watch her take it in her mouth. I let out a shaking breath and all but forget to keep myself afloat. My arms falter and I start to sink, getting water up my nostrils before I recover, coughing and spluttering like a whelp just learning to swim. 

Loki pokes her head above water with a grin and I growl at her when she laughs. “You are trying to drown me after all! How can you expect me to swim if you—”

She puts a finger to my lip. “How long can you hold your breath?”

“A few minutes, but—”

“Inhale.”

“Wait—”

“Inhale, Thor.” 

I do so barely before she is tugging me under. She is pinning my arms to my hips as she resumes her previous endeavor, taking my half-hard cock deep in her mouth until it is bearing down on her throat. All the while we are sinking, and my heart is pounding so hard it rattles my ears. I can hear the blood screaming in my temples as she sucks and bobs her head, taking me deep and then gliding off with just an edge of teeth. I groan but it goes nowhere as my lungs begin to pinch. 

I cannot last much longer holding my breath while she sweetly torments me. I tug at her hold and she lets me free so my hands scrabble blindly for her hair and pull. She ignores me, pumping her mouth full and empty until my hips are spasming uncontrollably and finally I spill in the back of her throat, my fingers wound in her tresses. I feel her swallow before she draws away, her hair drifting across my face, the silken strands suspended weightlessly in the crystal water, making me linger despite my distress.

I kick for the surface, but my legs are weak and still burning. I thrash in the water with my arms but they are sore and it has been too long without air. Things start to go dark. I need to breathe. Loki is in front of me, pressing her lips to mine, and suddenly I can feel air filling my chest. I blink, straining to see in the salty water, and realize she is breathing for me with the gills that line each side of her long neck. I wrap her in my arms and in another moment she is pulling me up with her, breaking the surface with barely three movements of her powerful tail.

I am gasping desperately, my chest heaving, and my mind is spinning—half of me raging over that harrowing incident, and the other half still crackling with raw desire. I growl, but I know not what to say as she rakes me with a look to melt even the hardiest ice. 

She keeps me close as she swims for shore and I help, paddling with one arm though there is really no need…but I will not admit that. The water is her element in this form; she is master of it. All my strength is for naught by comparison. It fills me with chagrin, stings my pride, and instills in me the strangest, most perverse longing I have ever known, which only addles me further.

We reach the shore and I push away to climb onto the rock outcropping, leaving my body still underwater below the waist as I lay back, chasing my breath. A small hill of gold pieces serves to cradle my shoulders and head, like the sumptuous bedding of a greedy dragon, and this seems to entice Loki further. Her eyes go narrow as she slithers up next to me, her tail still submerged, coiling about my legs, and her bosom pressing to my arm. I refuse to lean into her touch or even meet her gaze.

“Surely you are not angry with me,” she purrs, her clawed fingertips walking across my chest. “What could you possibly complain about?”

Fire pools between my legs but I bite back on it. “I nearly died,” I point out.

“I had you,” she argues. “You seemed to enjoy what I had to offer before you remembered you needed to breathe.”

“Aye,” I grunt, and glare up at the ceiling, my face creased so harshly it is starting to hurt. “More and more I find I am enjoying what you have to offer…far too much.” 

I am not happy with this turn. This witch had me entirely under her control. My life was in her hands, and I allowed it to happen. How could I have been bested so easily? Entire armies had died attempting to send me to my grave, and here she could have readily done so, and I would have been helpless to stop it. I have always been berated as headstrong and even reckless, but never to this degree. I all but threw myself into mortal danger with naught but the promise of her lips.

“There is no such thing as enjoying something too much, you poor, ignorant little mortal. My island is a haven for your deepest, darkest, most honest desires. Here you can express them freely with no worry of compromising your pride or your position in your other life. I have given you a wondrous gift, Thor. I have given you absolute freedom. I should think you would be more appreciative.” 

I snatch her slender wrist in my hand and sit up, glaring. “I shall not be party to this game of yours, Trickster. You like to dangle my very life in your wicked claws, but I am not a toy to be played with.” She says nothing, but I press on. “What happens when the day comes where I wish to depart your enchanted little rock, Jotun? When I seek my old life outside of your golden cave? Will you bewitch me still—force me to stay until I am old and grey and bent and you no longer find interest in me? Will you simply drown me as easily as you nearly did just now?”

Loki does not look angry as I thought she might. True, she has slumped back and is leaning one cheek on her hand, her posture more rigid than before and her tail impatiently slapping the water, but it is not irritation I see—it is boredom. 

“You human males truly are a dubious lot. Where is your spine, warrior? So I have introduced you to a few tastes of danger. I am certain you have been in far more precarious positions than that in your time, and it is not as if you were not handsomely rewarded. Besides, it is you who asked to be shown this form—I was merely demonstrating its unique…benefits. Can you not simply suspend your fear of the unknown and try to take pleasure in your time here with me?”

“My time,” I say. “My time. And what does that mean, exactly? How much time do I have? And when my time here is done…then what?”

“Then you may go away.” She has stopped looking at me, instead tracing the runes on a ceremonial dagger that lies amongst the piles of gold. 

“Truly?”

“Yes. You need not stay here if you do not wish it. Give the word and you will leave forever.”

I examine her. She cannot possibly sound…sad, can she? This must be a trick. Every fiber of my being and every moment of training I have ever endured in my life tells me that this creature cannot be trusted. I should demand to leave this instant, to be returned to my faering and depart never to return, but I am already pulling her into my arms. I roll us over so her chest is propped on my mine. Her scales scrape against my thighs, against my throbbing, needy manhood, and I groan in an odd mixture of discomfort and enticement. She is looking at me, and the green of her eyes is something uncanny, indeed. I cannot trust her, but neither can I resist her.

“Loki,” I say, and smooth back her hair from the finned extensions of her ears. Little emerald scales rim them, and they are freckled down the line of her jaw as well. “In this form, do you…” I trail off, my other hand drifting up and down along the sloping curves of her figure, and then returning to trace the rounded shapes of her scales. 

“What is it, Odinson?”

I cup her face in my large hand, frowning. “I told you not to call me this.”

“I do so because I know it makes you angry,” she shamelessly admits.

I study her, and that glint of mischief is back in her eyes. I find that although it worries me, I also like it…and I would rather see it than sorrow. In light of her uncaring barb, I reject any delicacy. “Do you have a cunt?”

Those eyes widen a moment before her lips break apart in a grin. “Such a poet. No doubt you are a famed bard back in your homeland?”

“Silence, witch. Have you a cunt or nay?”

“…You do not jest?” I shake my head and her face darkens. “You would… You really want me, in this form?”

“Yes. I do. I cannot hold back much longer.” As I speak, I am rutting uselessly against the roughness of her scales. The pain only makes my need more poignant. “Now tell me, is it possible?”

“It is…but I know not if you will like it. It is not a…not a cunt as you understand it… This form is much different from a human below the waist, if you had not noticed.” She is chuckling, but I can tell she is receptive. Her gossamer tailfins have begun to caress the inside of my leg. 

“I am not quite that dull,” I mutter, even as my hips still cant against the firm coolness of her scales. “Show me. Now.”

She still chuckles as she slides off of me, lying on her back in the gold and beckoning me with a curl of her long fingers. I answer her call without her singing a note, crawling atop her and letting her enfold me in her arms. I kiss her furiously, as if I once again depend upon her for my very breath. She bites my bottom lip as I draw back and I groan. I bury my face in her damp tendrils of hair, inhaling and shuddering at the tantalizing blend of sweetness and sea salt. I mull about, licking along the scales at her jaw until my lips find her gill slits.

When I mouth at them, Loki arches violently and lets out a cry. I jerk away, my eyes gone wide for fear that I have hurt her, but her look is not one of pain. Her pupils are vast with lust and I realize that this delicate inhuman flesh must be very sensitive. I return to the gills, kissing and licking along the ridges, reveling as she twists about beneath me like a snake in its death throes. 

“Thor,” she exclaims, breathless, and I can wait no longer.

“Where,” I demand, gruffly.

Loki takes one of my hands and drags it down along her body, past the threshold of scales beneath her belly to where her hips would meet. I can feel the slight dip of her pelvic bones, and then I am certain this is where her quim would be, had she legs. She extends one of my fingers, taking the lead and guiding it over smooth scale until suddenly they are broken—I can feel a crack in the armor and with her insistence I slip my finger inside. She tenses and lets out a breath, so I press on, exploring, finding that the opening sinks deep, and it is as soft and warm here as it would be inside any woman, though the shape is not the same. It rather feels like a small diamond shape, with pinched corners. I breach her with a second finger and she coos, shuddering as she removes her hand from mine and wraps me in her arms. 

“It does not feel…so different,” I mention, beginning to massage my fingers in and out of her, steadily but anxiously. 

“Perhaps not but…this is not its proper use…”

“Nay?” I add a third finger, which is more difficult. Her hole is so incredibly tight when in this body, and it is not nearly as wet. “I can think of no better use for it.” I move into position and nudge my way inside, just the crown at first, but already there is resistance. “So small… So taut. What better use could there ever be?” I force myself inside, bit by bit, and she trembles, her tail flicking uncontrollably in the water behind me. “Do I hurt you?”

“Pain…can be a pleasure too,” she moans, softly.

“A lesson you are quickly teaching me, temptress.” With a rough thrust, I bury myself completely, a smile cracking open my face as she shouts, tossing her head wildly. I fuck into her hard and fast. Though the differences in our anatomies make the angle inconvenient and the act rapidly straining, I am unstoppable. What she does to me… It is beyond lust, beyond need. The only thing I have come to be able to compare it to is raving madness.

When I finally spill inside her, she clutches me tightly through each lingering convulsion of my hips, then collapses when it is finished. I follow suit, rolling over to lie beside her in our bed of gold, keeping her in the crook of my arm. She eventually nestles into my hold, her nails curling around the flaxen hair on my chest.

“There now,” I say, “I have shown you its best use, would you not agree?”

She is chuckling, softly, and then lolling her head to look up at me with lazy eyes. “Perhaps I would… After all, its only function before now was to release my eggs.”

I frown, my brow arching. “Eggs?”

“Yes… You do know that fish lay eggs?”

“Of course I know that, but—you are not a fish.”

She laughs. “I am a fish where it matters, hm?” I nod, reluctantly, and lower my hand to seek out her entrance again. I want to feel our fluids mingled, maybe see if I can stimulate her while I wait to regain my energy, but the opening has vanished. Wet scales cover where it was just moments ago. “It remains hidden. It is a mechanism of this body.”

“Can you open it again?”

“Just press a little harder… There, like that…” She moans into my neck as I feel my way back inside; she is now overflowing with my seed. I trail it upwards over her belly, circling her navel. The coolness of her flesh is such a contrast to the heat of my essence. 

“So the Jotnar… They lay eggs? That is how you bear children?”

“Well, the very fact that we lay eggs makes it so we do not need to bear the young at all. They are formed and grow outside the body, they do not gestate for months on end like in the bellies of your females.”

“You make it sound so vulgar… Do you mean to say you have never been with child?”

“Of course not.”

I turn to glare at her. “For all the warriors you have lured here and undoubtedly used just as I, not a one of them has ever—”

“I use a spell to prevent it, you simple creature. Do you think I wish to be saddled with young?” She rolls her eyes. 

“Saddled? You would consider children such a burden?”

“Yes. They are like a parasite—constantly draining your time and your energy for their own needs. I have already lost my home; I have no interest in also losing whatever freedom I have remaining.” 

I consider her. “I have never thought of it as such… Having children has always been simply…an inevitability. One day I will be king, and I will be wed to a worthy woman and carry on my bloodline. A king must have heirs, but truthfully, to have a child of my own—of my own flesh and blood—an heir that I may protect and teach… It does not sound at all like a burden.”

Loki is silent for a while, her hand drifting back and forth over my chest. “Sentiment,” she finally remarks, though softly.

“The times I have spent with my mother are some of my happiest memories… I am certain your mother never thought of you as a burden.”

“On the contrary, she abandoned me the night I was born. If my father had not found me, I would have died. I was born before we went into the sea, left naked in the snow outside the temple. My father did not want me either, but I was his firstborn and he thought I might come to be of use to him. He killed my mother and took me, but not a day passed in my life where he looked upon me with aught but revulsion.”

“By the gods, Loki, do you speak the truth?”

“…I speak too much truth to you, Odinson,” she says, shaking her head and looking rather perturbed with herself. “Are we certain which of us is the spellcaster?”

I smile, smoothing her hair. “I am fairly certain it is still you, witch.”

She smiles back and pulls me in close to whisper. “The next time I am in this form…I would like to have you in the water.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor spends several more days in Loki's haven, growing weak from his new diet and weary from the dark. He begins to lose sight of his quest as his feelings for his new host change, and grow. As trust develops between them, how can Thor hope to meet his goals?

It is difficult to tell the passage of time here.

The cavern is dark and dank, the only light coming from the small aperture in the ceiling above, and the fires Loki keeps lit for me. I sense very much that they are for my benefit alone, as he is ever unclothed and never seems uncomfortable. My eyes have adjusted to the dimness, and I must be imagining it, but to me it is as if Loki’s eyes are ever aglow, green and mesmerizing at all times of day. Perhaps it is simply because they meet mine so often.

I love them—their spark of mischief, their covetous sheen, and even their occasional distant sadness. 

I am enamored of him and I know it, but it is ludicrous to say, to even think. He is not human, he is the furthest thing from it. He is a Jotun witch, a creature of legend, of the sea, of magic and mystery and danger. He is the monster I set out from Asgard to slay for my father. He is everything I should never want, yet he is all that I desire.

I am losing sight of my mission. Loki is untrustworthy and frightening and inhuman, but he is not the horrific beast I was led to believe him to be. I cannot slay him and bring back his head to my homeland. What am I to do? I cannot return empty-handed, but I cannot kill that which I have come to care for.

“I wish to go outside,” I say to Loki one morning, if indeed it is the morning when I wake. The light from the cave opening is hazy, so I assume the sun is not yet high… For all I know, it is sunset. 

Loki looks up from where he lounges by the fire, a copper pot boiling with strange fish in the coals. The food, as well, is for my sake. I have yet to witness Loki eat. He is combing out his hair with an ivory tool. 

“Outside?” he questions. “In the heat, the sun, the dirt? Whatever for?”

“I was born in the heat, Jotun, and spend most of my days either battling or sailing in the sun. I was raised in the dirt of the training fields. These are things I enjoy, Loki, and thusly they are things that I miss. I also miss meat other than fish. I wish to go hunting, and perhaps find fruit or roots to eat. I am weary of eating one thing day in and day out.”

Loki looks away, his hand still moving through his hair, though at this point it seems to simply serve as a distraction. “You want so badly to leave?”

“Leave this dark cave, yes. But never did I suggest I would be going outside alone.” I move to sit beside him before the fire. 

Loki is frowning, staring into the fire. “You want me to go with you?”

“Of course.” I put my arm around his shoulder and draw him in against my chest. “Why do you fear so? Have you never left this cave in all your years here?”

Loki shakes his head. “I have left only to perch upon the cliffs, to lure the men, and only when the clouds shade me from the sun. I do not fear, but I have been a creature of the cold blackness of the ocean for hundreds of years. The sun is no longer…to my taste.”

He is still combing, so I grab it and stay his hand, sliding a finger under his chin. “You should not have to sequester yourself here like a prisoner, Loki. This is your island, is it not? Should you not take possession of that which is your own?”

“It is mine whether I traverse it or not.” He leans into my touch. “Is the fare I catch and feed you so unsatisfying?”

“I do miss the fullness of belly that red meat can provide. But also…I would like to see you in full light, the sun on your white skin.”

“You are a dullard, indeed, to think I would fall for such things.” But he is nuzzling against my palm. I run the pad of my thumb across his lips and he opens his mouth to me, nipping before he suckles. It makes my spine tingle. “My protection spell will cease once I set foot outside this cavern. You will be able to take arms against me, harm me.”

I frown. “Yes, that is true. I had forgotten.” 

Loki is silent for a time, seeming to ponder. I suppose it is natural of him to expect betrayal from me. He has known nothing else of mankind. It was men that slaughtered his people and drove them into the sea. I am all but a stranger, besides. There is no real reason for him to place his trust in me. But still, it stings.

“It will be a bit of an ordeal, to get you out of here,” Loki finally says. 

I cannot restrain the smile that breaks across my face. “I shall manage. I managed well enough, being unconscious when you brought me here.”

“‘Tis easier when you are unconscious. You cannot panic or thrash or fidget.”

“I shall manage,” I repeat. “But you must find some clothing for yourself.”

He raises an eyebrow, indignant. “Whatever for?”

“If we are to hunt and explore as men do, then we must be outfitted as men are. It is my wish to do this with you.”

“You wish me to be more like a human,” he observes. “You do not like me as I am.”

“That is not what I said. Do not put words in my mouth, you slippery creature. I know very well you are not human, yet here we are all the same.” I wrap him in my arms and bring him into my lap. “You search too hard for betrayal. You see it even when it is not there.”

He runs the tips of his fingers across my chin and along my jaw, his nails scraping through my beard. It has grown in thick and full from neglect. “Distrusting you is simply the obvious thing to do. What loyalty do you owe me, Son of Man? Warrior? Prince? I am not of your kith or kin. I am not even of your world.” 

“You were, once. I know you are human no longer, but eons ago, you were. We are of the same mettle, Loki, no matter how far apart our paths have split. Diverging roots still sprout from the same tree.”

This time his brows rise high on his head, both of them. “Those must be the wisest words you have ever uttered in all your life.” He is smiling now, his head lolling against my neck, tongue darting out, just to tease. “Very well. Tomorrow, we will do as you like. We will go outside, and I will wear whatever garments you deem suitable. We will get you your red meat.”

“You will like it,” I assure him. “I will cook it and feed it to you, as you have done for me.” Loki seems affected by this, pausing in his mulling, his fingers moving into my hair and tightening. I open my mouth to ask if something is wrong, but he is running his fingers onward through my hair, the tension in his muscles dissolving. 

“If I do this thing you ask of me, will you do something I ask of you?” There is a sweetness in his voice—sweeter than normal—and I know he is trying to manipulate me. I also know that I will probably allow him to. 

“What is it you want me to do?”

“Mmm…later.” I feel the brush of his lips, and I think of rolling us over onto the furs for another session, but he is leaning over and taking the shelled fish from the fire. It is a creature I have never seen before—rather like a large and ugly insect. I am reluctant to eat such a thing, but Loki effortlessly snaps open a leg and pulls a hunk of flesh from the shell. He puts it to my lips and I take a bite, surprised to find the taste so pleasing. “Do you still long for red meat?”

“I do, but this is not so bad.” I let him feed me the entire leg and then I lick his fingers clean. “Shall I return the favor?” I pick up one of the legs and break it open, mimicking what I saw him do, and pull the meat free. I offer it to him but he frowns. A moment later, his eyes brighten and he smiles, but shakes his head. 

“I have already eaten.”

“When? I have never seen it.”

“While you sleep, I forage in the water. I eat while I hunt your meals.”

“I see. So you’ve no appetite left at all then?”

“I am afraid not. Besides which, you would not enjoy my methods. In my merrow form, as you call it, I need not gut or cook my prey.” He smirks at me and I shudder, imagining him catch a live fish and tear it apart with his teeth before devouring it, bones, entrails and all, like any bigger fish would do. 

“Perhaps not.” I allow him to feed me the strange creature until I can eat no more. I keep Loki in my lap, just enjoying the moment of quiet, of peace. Rarely, if ever, did I have peace at home. I was either warring with enemies or warring with my father. In these still moments, I think of my mother. Soft-spoken, golden-haired, gentle; a lover of weaving and flowers, yet firm and stubborn enough to keep my fierce father in check. My short temper worries and disappoints her, but without her support I might have been much worse. I might have outright attacked my father, and gotten myself banished for it.

“Thor, what is it? Your eyes are so distant, as if you could gaze far into the horizon.”

I shake myself from the memories, running my hand down Loki’s back. “I was thinking of my mother.”

“She who birthed you? Do you miss her?”

“I do. I miss my brother as well, and my comrades. And I miss Sif.”

“Who is Sif?”

“My childhood friend and betrothed.”

“Betrothed? What does this mean?”

I look down at him, my hand playing with the subtle curls in his long hair. “It means she has been…promised to me. Someday I must wed her, and she will bear my children.”

“This woman is your chosen mate?”

“Well…no. I did not choose her, my father did.”

Loki looks confused at this. “Why would your sire choose your mate? He is not the one who must live with her, lie with her. It is not his offspring she will produce. How can he decide what female is best for you? Should not you be the one to decide?”

I have never thought about that before. “That is simply how it is done. The father arranges the match for his children. It has ever been as such.”

“You humans are so foolish.” He shrugs, and then is silent for a time, drawing idle shapes on my chest. “…Is Sif beautiful?”

I raise a brow at this. “Yes, I suppose she is.”

“…You do not sound as if you desire her.”

“For truth, I do not. I have always seen Sif as a friend first—or a sister. I do not look on her as a woman, but a sibling.”

“And this is the female you are meant to be mated to?”

I sigh. “Yes. It is not my decision to make, it was decreed years ago, when we were children.” Loki shrugs, a look of dismissal on his face. I wonder at his curiosity. “Did you have a wife? A mate?” I ask him.

Loki shakes his head. “My father forbade anyone from mating with me. Any who dared even approach me in such a way were taken and beaten. I was made to be a pariah, untouchable amongst my own people.” 

My fists clench in his hair. “Why? Why do something so needlessly cruel?”

Loki shakes his head again. “I told you, my sire hated me.”

“But why?” I am angry now, suddenly and fiercely angry. “Why shun such a child—beautiful and clever and skilled as you are?”

He smiles at me before leaning his head against my shoulder. “You have learned more than enough of my secrets for now, Warrior.” 

I sigh. “And you harbor far too many secrets in the first place, Trickster.” 

“Would I be half as interesting if I did not?” 

I cannot help but smile.

~~~

The next night I can hardly sleep I am so anxious and invigorated. I can hardly wait to get out of this dank, lightless hole. 

Loki lies next to me as he does every night, but for once I am awake to feel him slink out from under my arm and depart my side. I pretend to remain at rest, but carefully watch him walk away. He does not vanish into the water as I expect—to forage for his nightly meal—but disappears deeper into the cavern. He takes a dark path against the far wall, a crevice so shadowed and narrow it is nearly invisible to the naked eye. Indeed, I had not realized it was there. He brings no light, and he is gone for a long time.

Part of me wishes to get up and go after him, but I hesitate. There is still much of him I do not understand, or trust. Caution outweighs my curiosity and I wait. He returns hours later to sit upon the furs. I get up, as if just waking, and he watches me as I dress in my trousers, tunic, boots, and gauntlets. I strap on the bow and quiver of arrows I found amongst his loot. 

His eyes are narrow, perhaps suspicious, but I do not plan to let him know that I witnessed his wanderings last night. Instead I pull him up and kiss him. “Today we venture into the light.”

He frowns at me, already looking exasperated. “Yes, yes. Please do try to withhold your drool, barbarian.”

I roll my eyes, my mood unable to be dampened. “Silence your sly tongue and take me outside.” 

Loki sighs and takes me by the hand over to the water. “I must take you outside the same way I brought you in. If you do not stay calm and keep hold of me, you will drown. When you need to breathe, squeeze my arm and I will breathe for you.” I nod and he begins to walk into the water. 

“What of my clothes?”

“I shall dry them for you.”

“And what shall you wear?”

Loki holds up a satchel. “I found clothing amongst the trunks I have taken from the sunken ships.” I nod and walk into the water with him. When we are waist-deep, he transforms into his merrow form, and wraps his arms around my waist. I encircle his waist in return, grabbing hold of his upper arm. “Take a deep breath.” I do so and then we plunge into the water.

Loki holds me tightly as he blazes through the water, as quickly as a frightened deer leaping through a meadow, and just as graceful. He darts through the narrow, shifting passageways of the cavern, taking so many turns that I know if I had tried to find my own way I would have easily perished. I squeeze his arm and he stops, taking my face and bringing my lips to his. Bubbles stream from his gills as he breathes for me, and I take the air in deep draughts. He pulls away and I hold it again.

I am not sure how much time passes, but I need him to breathe for me three more times before I can feel us ascend. I open my eyes and the water is vivid blue, a light shining, fragmented, from above. We break the surface and are back in the lagoon, adrift in the graveyard of sunken ships.

“Are your fragile human lungs faring well?” Loki smirks at me as we float together. 

“Silence, witch.” I start to swim for the white sands of the shore, in the shade of the obsidian cliffs where I first saw Loki, perched and singing that haunting melody. I hear him swim at my side, slowing himself down to keep pace with me. When we reach the shore, I walk out onto the snowy beach, inhaling the verdant scent. Only a few paces from the beach is a dense, lush forest with exotic plants I have never imagined. “This is beautiful.”

“Not compared to the water.” Loki has transformed, walking up beside me on legs, his eyes squinted, his posture cringing. “It is too bright.” He hides in the shade of the trees and takes piles of fabric from his satchel. With a wave, it is all dried and he awkwardly begins to dress himself. It takes him several minutes just to figure out his trousers.

“I can watch this no longer. Let me help you.” He frowns, but allows me to aid him. Together, we dress him in black leather trousers and boots, an emerald tunic with a black belt and leather jerkin, gold vambraces with black leather gloves, and lastly, a deep green cloak with a hood that he immediately pulls down to shade his eyes. Every buckle and clasp on him is gold, and I am not at all surprised by the choice. 

He glances at me, his brow going up at my undoubtedly gawking face. “What is the matter with you?”

“You look…” I step closer to him, my hands reaching out to take his shoulders. I have forgotten what I was going to say, but he is smiling. 

“You are perhaps the only man I have ever known who prefers me with clothing on.” 

“I did not say prefer, but…this suits you. Something about it… You are so different from the ruddy, scarred warriors I have always known. You are so…dark, so sleek… You are beautiful no matter what shape you take.” 

“Is that so?” Loki places both hands on my chest and I feel a flare of heat. When I look down, my clothing is dry. “I am certain that is a lie, though it is a lovely one.” 

“I do not lie.” I bring him to me, kissing him. Loki leans into me, his fingers curling into my tunic. 

“Did we not come out here for a reason?” he reminds me, pulling away.

“Yes, I suppose we did.” I kiss him again and then head off into the dense forest, taking my bow in hand. “What manner of beasts inhabit this place?” I ask, quietly.

“I know not. Crude, brutish land creatures are all the same, are they not?”

I chuckle. “Not remotely, my spoiled little fish.”

Loki frowns at me, but follows as I move through the underbrush, plunging deeper and deeper into the thick trees. All the foliage here is so strange; the leaves are wide and waxy and the flowers are so vibrant. It is so different from Asgard.

I come across some hoof tracks in the mud and kneel, inspecting them. “They are fresh…” I hurry in the direction they lead, moving as silently as I can. I have to check over my shoulder to see if Loki still follows, but he does. He makes not a sound, his feet seeming to hardly touch the ground at all, even in his unfamiliar boots. 

It is not long before I come across the beast rooting around in the brush. It appears to be an enormous boar, and I hold up my hand to stop Loki before I draw an arrow and take aim. I let it fly and it strikes true, in the pig’s throat. It squeals and takes off on a dying impulse, bursting through underbrush until I hear it falter, whining. 

I yell in triumph and kiss my companion before I go over to my prize. Loki follows, reluctantly. I bend over the pig and immediately slit its throat with my dagger, killing it finally. I roll up my sleeves and begin to slaughter it, separating the cuts of meat from the guts and entrails.

When I again look over to Loki, my smile fades. He is gone. “Loki?” I wrap the meat and place it in my satchel, then return to where I last saw him. “Loki?” I make my way through the foliage back to the beach, where I find him hunched over in the sand beneath the shade of a tree, one hand over his mouth. I kneel beside him, placing a hand on his back.

Loki shakes his head. “I am…all right.”

“Forgive me. I never stopped to think that such a thing would make you ill. But if you eat only fish from the ocean, I suppose this would be a strange sight.”

Loki shakes his head again and smiles up at me. “You misunderstand. Watching you dismember that beast…all the blood… I am finding it difficult to control myself. My appetite.” 

“Appetite, Loki?” In another moment he has tackled me down into the sand, his mouth engulfing mine. In my surprise I have grabbed hold of him, getting blood on his clothes. I pull him back. “Loki…”

“I want to devour you whole.” 

I groan, pulling him down to me and rubbing myself anxiously against him. “Loki, the blood…”

“Leave it.” He attacks my neck, sucking and biting as if he truly means to consume me. How can I resist him? I tug open his belt and then pull both our trousers down enough so I can rut against his hole. He smiles at me, half his face still shrouded with his hooded cloak, and seats himself on my cock. He has used his magick to make our union slick and wet. 

“Loki…” I barely have to move at all, he is so anxious, thrusting me in and out of him with hard, eager bucks. I watch him lick at his lips and I kiss him and kiss him as we fuck there in the sand. I let out a gratified moan when I spill inside him. His grin is audacious above me.

He pulls away and begins to replace his clothing. I do the same, standing slowly, still catching my breath. “You are insatiable,” I say to him. He just smiles, his mouth perhaps the most irresistible part of him, if I had to choose. 

I go down across the beach and wash off the blood on my hands in the water. I turn back, noticing Loki is taking shelter beneath a very odd tree. It has strange fruit dangling from it. I go over and lift him onto my shoulder. “What are you doing, oaf?!”

I laugh. “Sometimes I think your tongue too quick, if you can go from wanton to insulting in but a breath.” I steady him. “Pick some of that fruit for me, will you?”

“These oddly colored bulbs? Is your meat not enough for you?” He starts to pluck them free and put them in his empty satchel.

“We humans like to eat more than one thing, little fish.” Loki grumbles and picks until his satchel is full and I bring him down, but just far enough to hold him in my arms. 

“Humans are strange, needy creatures.” He gives my bearded chin a kiss. “Are we done out here yet? It is becoming frightfully hot.” 

“No, I want to explore.” I hang our satchels on a branch so they are off the ground and then head down the beach, holding on to Loki’s arm. He does not look happy, but he walks along with me. “Perhaps you would not be so hot if you were not covered head to toe. You could remove these gloves, at least.” 

“And have the sun touch me? I will burn.”

“It is not so bad.” I chuckle, spending the next few hours charting a mental course of the small island and ignoring Loki’s complaints at my side. It is sunset when his grousing finally compels me back to the shores beside the black cliffs. I turn to him. “There was one more thing I wished to do, before we return to that dank cavern of yours.”

He frowns. “What?”

I take the edge of his hood and push it back from his face. He lets out an inhuman hiss and tries to turn away, escape, but I hold him fast. “I will not have come all the way out here without glancing upon you in the sunlight, even if it is the last light.” 

Loki glares up at me, the orange glow of sunset making his pale face glow, and swathing the furrows of his grimace into cool shadow. I smile, delighting in the way the green of his eyes burns like gemstones, the way his raven hair shines, glossy as fresh lacquer. 

“Are you quite finished?” He is trembling, affronted but also, I think, uncomfortable. He blinks rapidly and often. 

I kiss his scowling mouth and replace his hood. “Now I am. Thank you for indulging me… You are as beautiful as I thought you would be in the light.”

He scoffs and I collect the satchels from the tree. He stands beneath it and begins to disrobe, hanging the clothes and boots in the tree branches. “I will leave these here…in the event I decide to indulge your wanderings again.”

I grin big at him and he pretends not to notice as he hurries back into the water. I follow, watching in ever present fascination as his body warps, a sheen of gold accompanying his transformation as his legs form into one and sprout rows of green scales. When he is a merrow again, he looks up at me. I nod and we begin to swim back through the lagoon, him effortlessly and me rather clumsily with all my cargo. 

When we reach the mouth of the cavern tunnel, I take a deep breath and let him pull me back down and through the dark corridors once again. We surface in the gold-laden cave, me dripping wet but elated to have stretched my legs and felt the sun. Loki brings back his legs and follows me to the fire. It has burned down to a few embers, so I strip to my trousers and start it back again. As I prepare some of the meat on a spit, just the smell of it roasting makes my mouth water.

Meanwhile, Loki is occupying himself with his horde, as he tends to do. He digs through piles of loot, moving certain things to certain piles. He knows where everything must go, and he delights in arranging it so. At first, to anyone, it would just appear to be heaps of random treasure, but in Loki’s mind there is a pattern to it all. I find myself saddened by his obsession. Even if he ever became accustomed to the outside air and the sun, he would never want to leave this place, his treasure, for long.

I realize then that I have been holding some sort of hope that he would leave—and leave with me.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Thor's suspicion wanes and his infatuation grows, more of Loki's past and motives are revealed, and Thor comes face to face with a powerful force he never imagined to wield.

“You swore you would do something for me if I took you outside, if you recall.” Loki peers down at me from his perch on my chest, scraping his long nails through my beard. 

“Yes, I do recall.” I curl a finger around his hair. “But I must admit, I’m rather dubious, Trickster.”

“You have not learned to trust me yet? After all I have done for you?” 

I frown at him. “Yes, biting my neck, dragging me underwater, trapping me in a dark, wet cave…” He glares at me, emerald eyes flashing, and I grin. “What is it you want me to do?”

“I want you to come with me, and ask no questions. Will you do that?”

“Hmm. Where are we going?”

“No questions.” Loki stands, handing me a lantern he must have recovered from one of the sunken ships. “You know how to use this, yes?”

I sit and pour some of the oil I carried in my satchel into the lantern, then light it with a burning stick from the fire. He smirks at me and stands, motioning for me to follow him into one of the various openings that lead deeper into the cavern. I want so badly to question him, but I know he will give me no answers, so I hold up the lantern and keep quiet for now. 

He leads the way into the darkness, able to see perfectly well while I stumble now and then on the damp cave floor, my boots catching on sharp rock formations. I curse and Loki chuckles from ahead.

“I shall turn back this instant if you do not silence yourself, Loki,” I grumble. He goes quiet, and I can barely see his pale skin, illuminated by my light. He takes me down winding, lightless paths that must twist on forever in some directions. It grows colder and colder, and then I can no longer even hear the sea. “Loki?”

“We are nearly there,” he assures me, and the path takes an abrupt turn. Soon the crashing of the waves outside returns to my ears. The narrow passage opens up to reveal another cavern, this one even bigger than the one in which Loki makes his home, but with only a small chunk of dry stone for us to stand upon. The rest of the floor is seawater, and I hold up my lantern in the blackness to find the remnants of a mighty ship standing there, trapped within the cavern.

“By the gods, what is this place?” I had forgotten entirely that he forbade me to ask questions. 

“All in time. First, to your task that you promised me.” Loki steps down into the water and wades out until he is waist deep. I leave the lantern on the dry shore and follow. He takes my hand and we dive in, I swimming blindly, guided only by his touch. 

We surface and I catch my breath as I take in my surroundings. I see we are on the opposite side of the ship. There was no other way around, as the structure had been wedged tight in the space by a colossal cave-in. It seems as though there was once an opening to the lagoon outside, but the mouth collapsed and caged the ship within, like a rabbit in a snare. Loki climbs out of the water into a breach in the hull, and I climb awkwardly after him. “Loki, I cannot see.”

In a few moments a see a tuft of green flame flare to life in the dark, suspended above Loki’s palm. I also see that he is now in a different form, appearing as he did the first time I laid eyes on him: as the sultry female siren that captured my adoration. “Loki, why are you a woman?”

“That is not important now. Follow me.” She walks deeper into the ship and I look all around as we navigate the skeletal innards of the ruined hull and cargo.

“This ship,” I observe, “it is like none I have ever seen… It resembles the mighty warships of my people, but it is…different. The craftsmanship is remarkable.” I touch an intact portion of the hull. “By the Allfather, it does not even feel like ordinary wood, and the metal is seamless, unblemished. I have never imagined such a ship.” I bend to try and investigate what remains of the cargo, but Loki takes my arm and pulls me away.

“I did not bring you here to look at a ship. Come.” 

I reluctantly go along with her, determined to investigate further once this mysterious task of mine is complete. She leads me down into the heart of the ship, where a slab of rock has been impaled through the starboard bow. Loki squeezes my hand and her eyes light up with anticipation. 

“Surely you did not bring me here to look at a rock?”

She glares at me and then brings me closer. Upon the rock I see something, a glimmer of metal, the outline of a leather haft? Perhaps it is a sword? “It is too dark.” Loki holds her hand up higher and the green fire grows, throwing more light across the object. Its shining surface reflects it like a star, and I can now see that it is an intricate war hammer. 

“You brought me here to look at this? But why?” Loki tugs me closer, holding her magical fire near enough that I can see the etched runes upon the face. “It is written in the language of my ancestors…”

“Can you read it?”

“It has been many a year since I studied this script.” I frown and concentrate on the runes. “Wait, I recognize this… It’s from a familiar legend, but why would…?” My heart starts to pound. “No, it cannot be.”

“What does it say?” Loki presses, her eyes afire with excitement.

“ ‘Whosoever holds this hammer, if he be worthy, shall possess the power of Thor.’ ” I take a breath. “This is not possible.” I stare at her and then back at the hammer. “This is… This looks like Mjölnir, the sacred weapon of my namesake Thor, god of thunder…” I shake my head. “But it is not possible! Why would it be here, in our realm? And this ship… Its materials and construction… But if it is a ship of the gods, how did it end up here?”

“Touch it.”

I stare at her again. “Why?”

“No questions! Just do as I say!” 

I snarl at her. “Enough! You will not give me orders! What is the meaning of all this? It must be another one of your tricks, you snake!” 

“It is no trick!” she insists, starting to look a little crazed, almost desperate. “Please, Thor!” She grabs hold of my arm and clenches, biting her lip as she awaits my response. 

I have never heard Loki beg for anything, or look so distraught. Her poignant eyes both worry and pain me. Though I am dubious and every instinct tells me not to, I reach out and tentatively place my hand above the head of the hammer. A humming comes to life when I get near, at first low and dull, until it builds and intensifies into a harsh vibration. Before I can think about it, I am wrapping my fingers around the leather haft and a jolt of piecing heat blazes through my body. I cry out from the shock.

I look to Loki but her eyes are ablaze and her beautiful face is split into a wicked grin. “Lift it,” she demands. “Lift it!”

I wrap my other hand around it and pull. My limbs begin to ache and sweat bursts from my skin from the blistering heat. It is as if a fire has been lit within my ribs and is burning the rest of my body to cinders, but somehow I cannot stop. I grit my teeth as my muscles bulge with the strain, but I feel the weapon start to give, the vibration becoming a singing in my ears, a rejoicing thrum. I plant my boots harder and put all my strength into a final pull, and the hammer dislodges from the rock.

I fall to my knees, panting hard, grasping the weapon in both hands. I realize tears have begun to drip from my eyes and wipe my face on the sleeve of my tunic in dismay at such an unmanly reaction. 

“What was that? Loki, what did you make me do?”

I look over to her, and she is giddy, her eyes wide and wet with emotion. I groan and force myself to my feet, holding the hammer. It is far lighter than I would have assumed it to be. “Loki, explain this to me.” I reach out and grab her shoulder, shaking her out of her daze. “Loki!”

Loki’s eyes flash green, but she calms herself. She licks her lips before she speaks. “I knew you were the one. I felt it.”

“What do you speak about? Give me a straight answer, woman!”

“…This ship has been here for hundreds of years. I know not what happened, how it came to be trapped here in this cavern, but I know that the incredibly powerful aura of that weapon drew me here. ‘Tis why I made my home on this island after I was banished. Don’t you see, with the mighty seidr of that hammer added to my own, I may be able to undo my curse.”

I narrow my eyes at her. If that were true, no wonder she was so anxious. “That does not explain why you brought me here, why you asked me to lift it.”

Loki looks back at the hammer. “I cannot access the seidr of the hammer without wielding it, but after failing time and again to lift it, and trying every manner of spell I could conjure for years, I realized that it is not for me to wield. As the runes upon it say, someone of the hammer’s choosing had to be the one to lift it.” 

“This is madness!” I shout. “Am I expected to believe all of this? That this is truly Mjölnir, the hammer of the god Thor? And that I am the one worthy to wield it?” I look down at it, humming lightly in my hand, almost as if it is speaking to me, cooing with relief that we are finally together. I cannot deny that it feels right in my hand.

Loki nods. “I have never come across another object teeming with such raw power. You say your namesake is the god of thunder? Believe me then, for this hammer is the cause of those storms you spoke of. The ones that destroyed all those other ships.”

My frown tightens. “You said there were no storms.”

“No, I said I was not the cause of them. It was not a lie.”

I grab her by the throat. “You only ever tell me half-truths, witch. And now this! Why should I trust you at all?”

“Because you cannot deny the truth before your own eyes.” She motions to the hammer. “This hammer is its own life form, reacting to changes in its environment. Whenever it senses unfit men, it lashes out and conjures a storm to sink their ship. I began to use my song to guide any survivors here, thinking that if they were strong enough to endure the otherworldly storms, then they must be worthy. But no man has been able to lift it…until you. This is also why I have taken a female form while near it.”

“You mean you lured the sailors to you in order to test them, to see if they could lift this? That is what this has all been about, all along?”

Loki nods. “I knew you had potential, that you were different from the rest, because there was no storm to greet you when you came here.” She places a hand on my chest and with the other, she grabs hold of Mjölnir’s haft, holding it along with me. Her breath hitches with the contact, her fingers digging in against my pectoral. “Oh…the power… To feel it unrestrained…” She lets out a little moan of pleasure. “Oh, Thor. I have been waiting for you for centuries…” She leans up and kisses me.

To my annoyance, I am momentarily caught up in her scent and softness, but I push her away. “Why did you not simply tell me all of this from the beginning? Why did you keep your motives secret from me?”

“Would you have followed me here and performed this task if I did not first earn your trust?”

“My trust, you have never possessed, Jotun.” I step away from her. “You manipulated me. You used your wiles to enamor me of you, so you could try to use me as you like. Did you really think I would refuse to help you? If this thing—whether it is truly Mjölnir or not—can break your curse, I would have gladly lent my aid.”

“Pretty words, Odinson, but if you recall you were poised and eager to slaughter me the moment you woke in my cavern. Would my pleas for assistance have gone heeded while you were full with bloodlust? I think not.”

I growl at her. “And that justifies all of this?”

“What have I done that is so dreadful? I have given you pleasure, and I have given you a weapon with power beyond measure. No matter how formidable a warrior you were before, now you will be unstoppable. Your feeble sire will have no choice but to show you respect once you return; you, a warlord wielding Mjölnir herself. Entire armies will fall before you on the battlefield. You will have no equal.”

I scrutinize her confident, enticed expression and then I look down at the hammer. Even I, a mere human though I am, can feel the power she speaks of, roiling around beneath the surface of the strange, ethereal metal. It pulses in my hand, feeling aware, alive. 

Could it truly be the hammer of the god Thor, the Thunderer whom I was named for? Could I truly be worthy of such a magnificent treasure? And if so, could I control it and become the warlord Loki spoke of? Would I regain the honor of my house, at last?

“I can all but hear those wheels turning, Odinson,” Loki whispers, pressing herself up against me again. “You know I speak truth. Can you still resent me after I have given you such a gift?”

I look at her, still suspicious, but my mind is reeling now. I feel nearly drunk with the excitement of possibility. “Do not call me that.” I loop the thong of the hammer through my belt. “Let us go back.”

“Yes.” She fans her sooty lashes at me before she leads me back through the dark, into the water and out through the cave mouth whence we came. 

“I want to go back soon, to search the cargo, see what else lies within that ship.”

“There is nothing worthwhile, I assure you. Only the hammer, which is now yours.”

I frown. “How can that be?”

“I do not know everything, warrior. All I know is that when I came upon the ship, it had been derelict for hundreds of years. Anything of value had been lost to the sea or decayed with time.”

After making our way back through the lightless, twisting stone corridors, we emerge once again in Loki’s grotto. I barely take a step into the gold-laden cave before she is upon me, both arms wound about my neck and her lips crushed to mine. I wrap my arms around her waist, clutching us together. She snakes her tongue inside my mouth and I groan into her, pushing us down on the furs. 

“I knew the moment I saw you, that you would be the one,” she gasps as I jerk her legs apart with my knees. She rakes her nails through my beard and against my scalp. 

“You did?” I undo my belt, setting it along with Mjölnir aside. It almost seems to sigh in disappointment at our separation. I have to admit I feel strangely emptied without it, until Loki occupies me with her sultry mouth again. She pulls away with a bite to my bottom lip. I rip my tunic over my head before I kiss her again and again, feeling her large, soft breasts press up against me, her nipples deliciously hard. 

“Oh yes,” and the sound is a lusty hiss. “Something about you was never like the others.”

I reach my hand down to caress her folds, and find them so glistening wet that my trousers are beginning to soak through from it. I keep my eyes on her in disbelief as my fingers play at her womanhood. Her pelvis jerks up violently, as if she’s being burned by my touch. 

“Must you linger so, barbarian?”

I smirk at her. “Now who is it that has no patience, hm?”

She lets out a little growl that becomes a moan when I slip two fingers inside. She digs her nails into me as I flex my fingers in and out of her. “Thor,” she whimpers, “take hold of the hammer.”

I stare at her. “Now? Why?”

“Do it, please.” Her supplicating voice is too good to refuse. I am so hard that I can feel the throbbing of my manhood in my neck, hear the blood pumping through my temples. I obey and wrap my other hand around the leather haft of Mjölnir. I feel the instant spark of our renewed connection, the hammer’s gratification like fire kindled in my veins— I gasp with it and Loki’s entire body arches in the same moment. “Oh!”

“What…is happening?”

“The powerful seidr of Mjölnir…I can feel it flow through you and into me…” She is panting for air as I touch her, and I feel her climax almost immediately, her slick inner walls clamping down on my fingers. She sighs, still rigid, so I let go of the hammer and retract my fingers. I lick them as I watch her recover beneath me, her white skin blossoming red.

I have never much cared whether my bedmate found their pleasure or not, so long as I was satisfied, but Loki is different. I crave her breaking apart with that white-hot moment as much as I crave it for myself. I cannot explain why, but I feel as though denying her release is utter failure on my part. 

I lift her from under the knee and enter her smoothly, sheathing myself to the hilt in one stabbing stroke. She moans weakly, and I can feel her still throbbing from her previous culmination. I grin and grab the hammer again as I thrust, hard.

Loki is a writhing mess beneath me, her eyes and lips wet and her voice echoing. She has never been so loud or so submissive to me. With the hammer I find the energy to induce her pinnacle twice more before I spend myself, twice in succession, filling her up with my seed and chasing my breath like a dying man. Even when I am finished she remains coiled tightly around me, not letting go. I lie with her this way, neither of us saying a word. She just presses up against me in the dark and lets out a sigh that undoes me. I find myself kissing and petting her hair like she is a precious treasure that could vanish in the night.

I want to have Loki for my own, not just while I am stranded here on this island, but for much, much longer.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Thor wields Mjolnir, he expects the dynamic between he and his strange host to improve, but instead it suffers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter, I promise I'm still working '^^

Loki has begun to worry me. Day after day, he scampers in and out and all around his grotto like a man possessed, searching his treasure heaps, new crates of cargo he exhumes from the sunken ships, and any and all soggy books or scrolls he can find. He pours over them, absorbed to the point where he barely notices I exist. He still ensures I am fed and there is wood for the fires, and in the night he comes to bed with me at my insistence, but he is not the same. 

“Loki,” I approach him one day, attempting to be gentle about it, even though I am rather perturbed. “What is it you are doing? Is it to do with the curse your sea king placed upon you?”

Loki nods, analyzing a book he has open in his lap, but that is all he gives me. I am at the point where his nudity no longer distracts me. Though it is still as beautiful as ever, I am accustomed to it, as I would be if he wore a particular tunic every day. I have become accustomed to nearly everything here: the chill, the dampness, the salty scent of the ocean, and even the encompassing dark. 

“Loki,” I say again, “is there anything I can do to help?” 

“No,” he replies, his brow furrowing with concentration. 

I am discouraged by his cold attitude. I press a little harder. “Loki, if you brought me here to help you, then why do you shut me out?”

“You cannot help me with this, not unless you know how to manipulate seidr.” I don’t respond so he looks up at me. “Well, do you?” I shake my head. “Then do leave me be.” He goes back to his book and I go back to my meal, irritated. I have finished the last of the boar so it is back to fish now. Loki has brought me another of the strange kind of fish with shells like a stone and strange, spider-like legs. He calls it a “lobster.” I break it open and suck out the meat, throwing the empty shell into the fire. I still have a bit of fruit left and I cut into the crisp skin with my knife, popping the piece in my mouth and chewing angrily. 

I lie back on the furs, restless but with nowhere to go and nothing to do. I stare up at the ceiling of the cavern, wondering exactly what I plan to do from here. My faering is surely still floating about in the lagoon, but even if it is seaworthy it may not survive the distance to any port, and I do not have the supplies needed even if it did. My crew will return to me when they can, but I have no way of knowing precisely when. I must return to my father, my kingdom, but not empty-handed. Since there is no monster, I’ve no conquest to bring home. 

Perhaps the hammer will be enough.

I pick it up and look at it for the thousandth time, feeling its heft, its loving hum of power. The runes and etchings in it are glorious in their detail, and the metal is like nothing I have ever seen. I plan to begin training with the hammer. Its weight is a bit lighter than the battleaxes I am accustomed to, and its reach not as long. But hammers just as axes can double as throwing weapons, so at the very least it is within my range of specialty. I must simply practice to master the new particulars of the style. 

I put the hammer back down and turn my head to look at Loki. He is still completely lost in his tomes. I had not thought of this before, but it should have been obvious. If he is successful and breaks the curse placed upon him, then he will no doubt return to his native kingdom of stone and ice at the bottom of the sea. That has been his end game all along: to leave this world behind. By helping him, I would also be casting him from me forevermore. I frown as I watch his long, lovely fingers trail over the page he is reading. 

“Loki,” I say.

He frowns, irritated at my interrupting again. “Yes?”

“What will you do, when you return to your home?”

“Does it matter?”

“I have done all that you asked. Can I not ask a simple question in return?”

Loki sighs and looks over at me, his emerald eyes going narrow as knife blades. “I am going to kill my sire.”

My face goes taut as I sit up on the furs. “Kill your father? Because of his cruelties towards you?”

Loki shakes his head. “Because my people will be better off without him.”

“I do not understand.” 

Loki exhales and closes his book. “My father is our king.”

I stand and go over to him. “Your father is the king? You are a prince?” He nods. “Why did you not tell me this?”

“There was no reason for you to know, warrior. I am banished, and thusly my bloodline means nothing at the moment.”

“But if you kill him, you will be king.”

“…Perhaps, or perhaps not.” 

“But you are the first born, are you not?”

“Yes.” He says no more. I cross my arms over my chest and wait for an explanation. “I have other kin, blooded brothers that my father always favored over me. They may very well fight for the seat of power.”

“And you do not think you can win against them?”

Loki frowns hard and sets his book aside. “Enough, I’ve no more head for these inquiries.” He heads for the water, no doubt to change his form and go swimming where I cannot follow. 

I lunge forward and grab his arm. “Loki, please. What are you not telling me? There is so much more going on here than you are admitting. Why can you not simply trust me with your intentions?”

Loki stares up at me, his eyes sparkling with that bit of longing I have seen from time to time, and so much of the sadness. But then in a moment it flares into outrage. “Unhand me, human! I have no obligation to tell you anything!”

I am shocked by the fierceness of the designation and let him go, but his harsh tone reignites my anger. “Have I not yet earned your forthcoming?! I have remained here in this wretched hole for weeks on end! I wield that which you most need! Will nothing satisfy you, Trickster?!”

“My secrets are mine to keep, barbarian.”

“And Mjölnir is mine. You said yourself only the worthy may take hold of it, and you were not as such. What favors do I owe you? I could simply take my prize and be gone from you!” 

Loki bares his teeth at me like an animal. “You would deny me my only chance for freedom?!”

“Mayhap I would! Mayhap I will simply keep you for myself! I came here to claim you, and I shall do so one way or the other!”

The blow across my face is hard and stinging. Loki’s hand bears much more strength than I would have thought, and I can taste blood well up in my mouth. Even before he struck me, I regretted my words. I open my mouth to speak but Loki has fled. He escapes by diving into the water and vanishing below the surface. A distorted flash of gold and I know he has taken his merrow form. 

I watch the ripples on the pool spread out and out and then ricochet back. I watch them until they disappear and the crystal water is smooth again. If not for the fact that all his tomes and treasures lie within these walls, I would have assumed Loki would never come back.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Loki momentarily gone, Thor discovers the shocking, horrific secret the siren has been hiding all along.

I have thrown myself completely into my training.

Ever since our confrontation over Loki keeping secrets from me, he has avoided me as if I am a blight upon him. I no longer see him during the daylight hours. He returns in the night while I am asleep and slips away again before I wake. I know only because he leaves me wood for the fire and fish to eat. It has been weeks since I even saw him. 

I have kept track of the days by scratching markings into the rock with a jeweled dagger. I know I have been here somewhere close to two months. My crew should be returning soon, having resupplied by now…I hope. Although I am very certain I have lost any possibility of keeping Loki for my own, at the very least I have Mjölnir to bring back to my father, and that shall have to suffice.

I have gotten rather good with handling the warhammer. As expected it is not so different from wielding my axe, though the handle is much shorter and the head lighter. I have gotten adept at throwing it, discovering that its lightness and design were all but intended for the act. My aim and distance are incredible to the point that I have impressed even myself. 

After several hours of hard training on this particular day, I sit myself down, dripping with sweat and my chest pumping. I contemplate cooking a meal, but I find I am yet again not hungry. I have barely eaten anything for days. I find my flask and finish off the ale I was rationing, downing it all in a few burning gulps. My head is just beginning to swim, but not nearly enough for my liking. I wish I had some strong mead to glut myself on, to block out all these wretched, unmanly thoughts, but there is none to be had. 

I lie back on the furs and stare up at the rock formations dangling from the ceiling. I miss my Loki. I miss his sly intelligence, his biting humor, his sultry voice. I miss his scent and his cool, knowing touch. I miss his raven hair and burning emerald eyes. I miss every one of his forms. I even miss his disparaging comments and his blatant inhumanity. He was unlike anyone I have ever known.

Sick at myself, I finally remember Sif, my betrothed. She is the one I should be pining for, missing, wanting to hold. But she is not and she never has been. I know when I return I shall have to marry her, beget children with her. I have always met the thought of it with a sense of duty and resignation, but now it makes my gut and chest both ache. It will be miserable: a lifetime spent with a woman I can never love as I do this strange otherwordly creature who rejects me. 

I bolt upright, staring down at my own hands. Have I just admitted to myself that I love Loki? Now, when it is too late?

I bury my face in my hands and scrub them over my eyelids and back through my hair. “What a fool I am.”

The desire to drown myself in mead and give way to a drunken stupor strengthens with a vengeance. I wrack my tormented brain and remember the cargo crates that filled the ruined hull of the godly ship where Loki found Mjölnir. If it was indeed the ship of the thunder god, then doubtless it would have a fine stock of mead. Such cargo would readily be regarded as useless by Loki, so it could very well exist. I think I remember how to find it, so I loop the hammer through my belt and light the lantern before I make my way into one of the caves at the back of the grotto. 

I remember the first few turns as the darkness encloses around me, but as I go further on, every measure of every wall looks exactly the same. I take a corridor I thought I remembered Loki guiding me through, but it becomes narrower and narrower and I do not recall it doing so before. My footfalls are the only sound other than the occasional dripping of water from the ceilings. I make several more turns, trying to get my bearings, but the tunnels do not seem to end. 

I look back but I realize I have gotten myself completely lost, perhaps driven by drink, perhaps by something else. I curse and decide to press on. The tunnels may very well intersect somewhere ahead… I realize only now that I could have left a trail to follow back.

Do I even care at this point? I feel too low to be brought to grief over getting lost in the dark. The only thing I mourn other than my wretched, flapping tongue is the lack of mead splashing upon it. I growl and keep on, turning down paths and now and then stumbling or slipping on rocks and in puddles. I throw away all concern over finding my path back out or to the ship, and just fumble onwards in the dark.

Eventually, the flickering light of my lantern bursts outwards, not being stopped by narrow tunnel walls, and a gust of even colder air sweeps over me. I hold up the light and see that I have found my way into another open cavern. The ceiling is much lower than in Loki’s grotto, but I can extend my arms to each side here at least. I step forward a few paces and my boots crunch down on something that is not bare stone. I think at first that this must be a secondary hoard for Loki’s gold so I kneel down with the light, trying to see what manner of treasures make up the strangely textured floor. 

I cast the yellow illumination across the floor before my boots and do not find what I expect. The ground is littered with heaps of bones. Each pile seems to be made of a different type from a different limb. The heap I walked into is made of several rib bones. Strange…did some animals wander down here and starve to death? But no, there are far, far too many to be from one or even a dozen lost beasts. I search about, finding next a pile of leg bones and so forth, all picked clean of any remnant of meat and heaped into small, matching mounds. 

Did Loki lie to me again? Did he truthfully partake of the beasts of this isle and discard their remains here? But why would he hide such an arbitrary thing? I venture to the back of the cavern, the toe of my boot kicking something across the floor. I lean down to the most secluded heap, thinking this must be where the skulls were discarded. This will tell me for certain what manner of beasts these bones once belonged to. I grab one, finding it too small to be boar or deer. I bring it directly into the light and all the air is crushed from my lungs.

It is the skull of a man.

I drop it as if it had bitten me, and open the chamber in my lantern to expose the fire and illuminate the pile more fully. The entire wretched heap is made up of dozens upon dozens of human skulls. “Dear, sweet Valhalla…” 

“Thor.”

I whirl, Mjölnir all but flying into my hand as I take a fighting stance. I hold up the open lantern and see Loki standing at the entrance to the death-laden cave. His expression is even harder to read than usual, and it is something I do not think I have ever seen him wear before… 

“What is this?” I demand.

Loki does not answer. He takes a step toward me and I stiffen, my hand tightening on the haft of the hammer. “Do not take another step, witch!” He stops, his eyes still piercing into me. “Explain this! All these bones… Human bones… You lied to me. All along you have been killing the sailors you lured here!” It was all coming together now, I had just been too infatuated to think logically, to see through his deceptions. “You gave them all the test, didn’t you? You seduced them and took them all to that ship with promises of power and pleasure. And once you found they could not lift the hammer, could be of no use to you, you killed them! Killed them and dumped their poor corpses here instead of giving them proper burials! All these warriors, brave and unsuspecting, and you laid them to waste with no hope of ascending to Valhalla!”

“Thor, you do not understand.”

“Is that all you have to say?! What don’t I understand?! Am I wrong?! Tell me, Loki, please—tell me I am wrong!” My hands have begun to shake, I realize, making the light of my lantern shudder, creating a myriad of dancing shadows that throw Loki’s face into and out of darkness. My chest and gut ache even worse than before. “Please, Loki! Please, tell me I am wrong as you always do! Call me a fool, an oaf! Laugh at me!”

Loki’s face crumples like kindling in fire. “You are not wrong…but you do not know all there is to know.”

I grind my teeth together, my knuckles turning white and my veins starting to bulge in my arm. “What more can there be?”

Loki wraps his arms around himself, looking at the corpse-riddled floor. “I did not kill them because they were of no use to me, I killed them because I had no other choice.”

“What say you? How could you have no choice?”

“Because my father made it so. When he commanded us all from the earth, commanded us to change our shapes and take to the seas, he also declared another transformation, one that would ensure what he said would be our eternal revenge against mankind. For slaughtering our people, our young, and forcing us from our homeland, he made it so that we…” He clenches his fists. “We can subsist only on human flesh.”

I am frozen in place, my mouth dropped open and my eyes no doubt bulbous in my head. “You… You mean not what you say. Surely, you jest with me, Loki.”

He shakes his head, and even with the clattering of my lantern I can see him bite his lip and wrap his arms tightly around himself. “I do not jest. I cannot survive without eating human flesh. Your tales of merrows drowning sailors are in fact very true.”

“…Except that the merrows have always been Jotnar, and they dragged sailors into the sea in order to…feed on them.”

“Yes.”

“So all the warriors that came near your island, all the ones you guided through Mjölnir’s storms with your song, you tested them and when they failed…you devoured them. Like wild game.”

“Yes.”

“And had I not been able to lift Mjolnir…you would have eaten me as well.”

I hear Loki’s breath catch in his throat, my hand now shaking too much to hold the lantern up high. His face is in total darkness, but I can hear the choking in his voice as he answers me, “…Yes.”

I drop the lantern and fly at him in a blind rage, screaming a battle cry at the top of my lungs. I swing my hammer at his skull but he is no longer where he was. I whip around, nostrils flaring, muscles poised to fight, though I do not anticipate much of a battle from him. Not while I wield Mjölnir. I see him in the fraction of lantern light, across the way, cowering near the heap of skulls. 

“Be still, monster. At least you can die with some illusion of honor.” I storm across the room and raise the hammer again but he dives out of the way and the blow turns the skulls beneath it into powder. “Why run?! You deserve this! I will have a trophy to bring my father after all!” 

“Thor, wait, listen to me—”

“I will no longer listen to your lies!” I scream and swing the hammer again. He barely dodges this time. “All of it has been lies!”

“Thor, please!” I bear down on him, rearing back, fully ready to pulverize his skull. There are tears streaming down my face but nothing can stop me. I clench his throat in my fist, Mjölnir singing for his blood. This is right, this is just, and my bloodlust is boiling over. Loki shrinks back, holding out a hand. “Thor, I am with young!”

The words halt my deathblow, just barely apart from his head. “What?” 

Loki is shivering, crouched beneath me, his hand held out in supplication, his face broken apart in pain and desperation. “I am with young, your young.”

“Another lie,” I spit. “Will you ever stop lying to me?!”

“It is no lie, I swear to you! I am to bear your child!”

My whole body stills and finally deflates as I meet his unwavering gaze. Even if he is lying, I know I cannot take the chance. Not with the life of my child. I back away and Mjölnir slips from my grasp as my arm drops, hitting the cave floor with an echoing clang. The flame in the lantern flickers before it finally goes out. 

“No.”

I fall to my knees and give in to my weakness, hiding my face with my hand as I weep in the dark with the murderous demon carrying my child.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As shocked and sick as he is over Loki's confession, Thor comes to terms with his own heart and makes a confession of his own.

Listless and lethargic from crying like a wench, I allow Loki to lead me back through the pitch-black tunnels, his hand in mine to guide my blind steps. I barely feel the stone below me or the coolness of his flesh against mine. I barely feel anything at all. Mjölnir hangs from my belt, slapping against my thigh as I walk, but I am numb to even that. 

Loki, wisely, says not a word. He simply pulls me gently along. 

It seems like hours before we are back in his golden grotto, and I immediately tear off my belt and boots before tumbling to the pile of furs beside the fire, hitting them as if I weigh a thousand pounds. I face away from him, so broken over everything that I care not about turning my back to him. If he wishes to eviscerate and feast upon my flesh, I may let him in this moment. I may even be happy about it up until the end. 

“Thor,” he says, and waits. I say nothing. I feel him settle on the furs near me and his scent becomes my world. “I did not want you to know what I must do to stay fed. It was never my desire, any of our desires. My father, as our leader by blood, can command our bodies as he wills. We had no choice. ‘Tis why he hated me so, why he treated me so cruelly and why he banished me.”

I finally look back over at him. “You said you were banished because you spoke against him. Was that…”

“…Another lie, yes. His blood commands are absolute; I could never speak aloud against him, however much I wished to. He banished me when I ceased to be useful to him, as a slave. I was born…deformed. He was offended that he, of all beings, could sire a degenerate, and so he made me, his own flesh, his lowly servant.”

I study his face. “What deformity do you have that is so offensive? Is your beauty a lie too? Are you as hideous as your appetite?”

Loki sighs and looks away, that strange expression tainting all the corners of his face. Can it be shame? It must be, there is no other explanation. “The Jotnar… They look very different from me… More different than you can imagine.”

I sit back up, my skin still crawling, the fine hairs covering my body still standing on end, but I meet his gaze. “How different?”

“To you, they would be truly monstrous. They are similar to merrows but they are hairless, and they have dagger-sharp teeth and eyes red as blood. The frosted look of their skin would be alien to your eyes, mottled and inscribed with centuries of hatred. Their fins are jagged, their claws unforgiving, and they are five times as big as me.”

My eyes widen. “Your father shunned you…because you are beautiful?” 

“I am only beautiful to humans, Thor. To the Jotnar, I am utterly repulsive. A mistake of breeding. An abomination… The beauty of humanity has long been abandoned and forgotten after countless generations. For some reason or other, I am…unique. While all Jotnar can shapeshift, it is only I who cannot return to the true shape of a Jotun.” 

“None of this was your doing?”

He nods, carefully. “If I can find a way to undo the curse upon me, then I can return home, kill my father, and shatter his blooded bond with my people. I can free them as well as myself. And whether one of my brothers or I takes over, it will be preferable to my ancient, hate-filled sire. I have no wish to feed on human flesh, but if I do not, I will die, and I cannot starve before I gain my freedom, and that of my people.”

I frown, my face tightening. “You can live on nothing else?”

“Nothing. Believe me, I have tried. I have glutted myself on any manner of other fare until the point of sickness and starvation, but nothing else will suffice. My body rejects all else.”

“That is why you have never eaten the fish, why you disappeared into the tunnels at night instead of going into the water.”

He looks shocked at my knowledge, but he nods. “There is a cavern deep, deep below where the water turns to ice. I keep the flesh there so it will keep for a while, and then when I am…finished…I move the bones to the place that you found.”

“You eat them…raw.” He nods, avoiding my eyes, no doubt aware of the scorn in them. “And with that same mouth, you kissed me, pleasured me.” I put the back of my hand to my lips, feeling a wave of illness come over me. 

Loki recoils from me, that look of what must be shame wrinkling all the beautiful edges of his face. He turns away, hiding it from me. “I’ll not do those things again, now that you…know everything.”

“So all of that was just…” He looks back at me but I am too utterly disgusted by my own weakness to meet his gaze fully. I avoid it like a coward. 

All this time I had thought perhaps… What a fool. Am I a warrior or a wench? But it would be asinine to deny the truth of my own heart. I love Loki, and I had hoped that he returned at least a fraction of that affection. But why? I knew even before I arrived here that he was a predator, and I knew upon our very first meeting that he was a seducer. He had admitted to nothing other than his intent to pleasure me and then bid me leave, as he did countless men before.

That was before I knew by bid them leave, he meant kill and devour them.

“It matters not,” I say. “What matters is our child.” I force myself to look back at him, to keep the bile from rising in my throat. “You told me you used your magick to prevent such an outcome. Have you ever told me a single truth?”

“That was the truth.” Loki shakes his head. “But there are other unforeseen factors. Either Mjölnir’s seidr interfered with mine due to your presence, or my spell simply did not extend through all my shape changes… I only ever accounted for the one female form, as that was the only one the warriors before you ever desired. I cannot know for certain which is the cause, or if it is partly both.”

“…You are truly with child?”

Loki nods. “It was not expected. Thor…I know you have no reason to believe a word I say, but I did not orchestrate this, I swear unto you.”

I shrug. “At this point, Trickster…it matters not how or why. It matters only that you give birth to a healthy babe. And as I am the father, I will do all I can to ensure that.”

Loki nods slowly. “I…thank you.”

I shake my head. “Just tell me what you need.”

Loki explains that the child will likely take whatever form Loki was in when he conceived, so whether the babe will be human or merrow is yet unknown. Not that it mattered to me; my child will be my child, regardless of shape. I always looked forward to being a father, even if marrying Sif was never what I wanted, but now fate has arrived much sooner and under much stranger circumstances than I could ever be prepared for. If the child is indeed born with a fish’s tail, how am I to care for it? Better still, how am I to be a proper father stuck here in this cave thousands upon thousands of miles from my home and family? Could I be a proper father in any sense? I am worried over so much, and now I do not even have Loki to comfort me.

~~~

As the days pass, Loki continues to vanish into the dark inner caverns at night to feed, and I do my best not to dwell upon the unfortunate fallen warriors that serve as his feasts. It carves at my heart and my honor to allow such desecration, but I try to think it through now that I have had time to calm down. If Loki indeed told the truth—which of course I cannot be certain of—then this fate that has befallen him and his people is not his fault. His father forced this upon the Jotnar, making them survive on human flesh as revenge against mankind for the atrocities committed against the mystical clan. 

What could I expect Loki to do then, starve himself to death instead of fight and find a solution? Would I do anything less in such a situation? By Hela, I would do anything to stay alive and fight against the odds. So could I hold it against Loki for doing the same?

When Loki returns, I am sitting up, awake. I hear him hesitate before he begins to make his way to the opposite end of the cavern. He has taken to sleeping apart from me, changing form and taking rest down in the water to be as far from me as possible. Whenever we are near, our eyes look anywhere but at one another. He is so far from me even while he is mere footsteps away.

“Loki,” I say, and I hear him pause, coins jingling beneath his feet as he comes to a stop. “…I understand why, but you don’t have to go. I would prefer you near to me.” 

He doesn’t move. “Why would you invite a creature you so despise to sleep by your side?”

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Just come here to me, Loki. Please.” I have never begged anyone in my life as I have begged Loki.

Obviously reluctantly, the siren makes his way over to me, sitting on the edge of the furs, not within arm’s reach of me. He says nothing, and for a long time, neither do I. 

“I cannot say I forgive you, Loki,” I begin after a deep, calming breath, “but I understand. None of this was your choice. You were forced into this fate, and even so, you have restrained yourself. You have done all in your power to find someone to wield Mjölnir, to break your curse. The hammer conjured the storms and killed all those men, not you. And if you must eat…human flesh, you have at the very least killed as few men as possible. You have not ventured from your island and dragged them down into the dark water like the other Jotnar. Am I happy that you must feast on the flesh of my kin? Nay. But I can no more hate you than I could tear out my own heart.”

He listens silently as I pour out my carefully chosen words to him, but when I come to my last sentence, I hear him take an abrupt, sharp breath. “What is it you are really saying to me, Thor?” 

I finally turn on the fur, moving to face him, meet his eyes. “I am saying that regardless of what you are or where you come from or what you must eat to stay fed—I want you with me. I want you at my side, always.”

“Because I carry your child,” he concludes.

“No!” I bark, and he eyes me dubiously, his gaze narrow and his mouth twisted. “No,” I repeat. “Because I love you.”

Loki is, for possibly the first time, speechless. His mistrust has shifted to utter shock, and he wraps his arms around himself, his mouth opening and closing. He stutters something, but stops, and then restarts. “You can’t,” he finally blurts out. “You can’t love me.” 

“Are you going to tell me whom I can and cannot love now, witch?” I demand, finding a smile come to my lips, despite all. “That will be up to me, thank you.”

“Thor, enough! I am—not worth your love. I am unfit! I am not human, not even close. I am a monster, the very monster you set out to behead to reclaim your honor. I seduce and devour your fellow warriors. Their blood stains my hands, my tongue, my throat!” He grabs at his hair, shaking his head, sobbing. “This is all wrong! Please don’t say you love me!”

I am surprised to find myself so calm and collected. It seems now that I have admitted how I feel, I have reached some semblance of peace. Everything that was clenching and heavy in my gut has released, and the weight of the world has fluttered off my shoulders. 

I crawl across the furs and reach out, taking Loki’s shoulder and pulling him forward against me. He weeps, his tears as crystal and warm as any human being’s. “I will say it as many times as I like, until you believe me. I love you, Loki. You are my heart. And I am happy that you are carrying my child, whether it has legs or the tail of a fish or the horns of a goat!” 

Loki’s sobs are interrupted by a chuckle, despite himself. And that makes me smile from the bottom of my soul. “How can you, so pure and noble as to wield Mjölnir, love such a vile creature as me?”

“You are slippery, indeed. Mischievous, deceitful, cunning, lewd, and the most beautiful creature I have ever met.” 

“Thor!” He finally slips his arms around me, tightening them around my waist. He nuzzles into my chest, catching his breath, his hair tangling in my fingers, his scent taking me over. “Thor, I…” He goes silent, sagging into me, just crying, letting his emotions out. I pet his hair, and look up at the moonlight trickling in through the hole in the roof. I do not expect reciprocation. I am glad simply to have some to terms with this, so I can move somehow forward from here. 

I find myself praying—to Odin Allfather, to Thor himself, to the great goddess Frigga, even to Bragi—to give me a way to somehow let Loki break his curse and be free. I want that for him. I want his pain and degradation to end. I want him to know this same peace I have.

Even if that means I will lose him forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long! I have had the worst writer's block. I'm sorry it's so short, but I am doing my absolute best to get back in gear. I hope you guys like it, and I promise I'm still working. <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor always looked forward to being a father, but he could never have expected it to turn out like this...

However much I have looked forward to being a father in the past, I could never have prepared myself for this.

For the most part, Loki’s pregnancy appears to be more or less normal. After a few weeks, he tells me he must remain in female form from now on, as dividing himself between his male and female parts while sustaining a womb for the child has become to taxing on his body, and it will be easier to simply be one. I do not argue this, as I want the baby to be born healthy, without incident. 

It is…incredibly difficult for me, for in order to remain well-fed and strong to carry and nourish my child, Loki must continue to vanish to the depths of her caverns to feast on the human flesh she keeps in ice down there. I hate it, detest it, but it must be so. However much it stains my honor and wrings my heart to allow my nameless warrior brothers to be condemned to such a fate, I must put the life of my child first. It is that simple.

It gets to a point where Loki’s belly becomes so big and her legs so weak that she can barely maneuver about her cavern, let alone swim out to retrieve food for me each day. I have been living off the fruits and roots I foraged, but trapped inside the cave without fresh meat and water, I will never survive, so I devise a solution. 

“Loki,” I propose to him, or her, as it is momentary, “we must find a way for me to exit the cave on my own. Perhaps the hole in the ceiling, where the smoke escapes… If I can make it bigger and affix a grappling hook of some kind, I can climb in and out.”

She mulls this over, but seems reluctant. “You have rarely been out of my sight,” she comments. “If you possess such means…how can I be certain you will ever come back once you escape? I’ve not the strength to stop you anymore.”

I frown, and kneel down beside her where she lies, sprawled on a bed of exotic furs and gold. “I would never leave you and our child,” I tell her, deadly serious. “Never. I will take care of you both. But to do that, I must be able to hunt for my own meals. I shall surely starve if I remain trapped here.” 

Still, she seems hesitant. She has never before had need to trust, I realize. Every man who came before me had no hope of escape, and did not live long enough to desire as such, much less earn it. “…your logic is sound, but still I…am dubious.”

“I know, you slippery serpent, but you can trust me.” I lie out beside her, placing a hand on her rapidly swelling belly. I can feel the babe inside squirm and kick. “I am here for you, both of you. You can believe that, Loki, if you believe in nothing else.” 

“I do. I do believe, but it is…difficult.” She leans her head on my shoulder, placing her hand atop my own. “Trust…has never been in my nature. All I have ever known is abuse, manipulation, and betrayal. For so long now, my life has revolved around nothing but deceit and death.”

“I know, but that time is done. I am here now.” I turn to place a kiss on her pale, cool forehead. “Come what may…I am here.”

She nods, curling up against me, although I know she cares nothing for the warmth. Still I do not argue, and hold her close, her big belly making it slightly difficult to spoon properly, but I make do. In fact, I enjoy the protruding bump, and gently rub my hand back and forth over it. 

“So,” I begin after a few moments of quiet, “I must have rope, and something to make a grappling hook… Perhaps Mjolnir would suffice, if you can use your magicks to aid me…”

“There must be rope here somewhere,” she mentions, looking about, “though I do not usually save much from ships that is not shining and precious.”

I roll my eyes, expecting the true Jotnar to resemble dragons given how much Loki hoards treasure. “I cannot even imagine why you are so fascinated by gold. You’ve no use for it.”  
“I enjoy it,” she replies haughtily, and struggles to get up. “One such as myself should be dripping in beautiful things.”

“On that, we can agree.” I lean down to help her to her feet, and we split up to search the cavern for some kind of rope or cord. 

After scrounging and digging about, I discover a heap of anchor rope, and loop one end through the leather strap of Mjolnir, tying it off. I stand below the hole in the cavern roof and give the hammer a good spin, tossing it upwards. I miss and smash a stalactite to bits, having to dive out of the way of the crashing debris as it rains down. 

“You oafish imbecilic buffoon!” Loki hollers as she ducks for cover. “You will destroy my cave!”

“Calm down, witch,” I gripe, my tone biting to hide my embarrassment. I try again, and again I fail, though not as miserably. After a few more failures, I make it through the hole and with the aid of Loki’s magic, the hammer imbeds itself in the rock. I give the rope a few testing tugs before I am satisfied it will hold my weight. Now then, the real work begins. 

Over the next few hours, I diligently cut and fashion bits of rope, and climbing up the grappling line, I rung by rung construct a ladder. Once I reach the top, I use my axe to hook onto the edge, straining as I reach through to retrieve Mjolnir. After warning Loki, I use the war hammer to bash against the opening, slowly but surely widening it until my body can pass through. I pull myself up and sit on the edge, taking a deep breath of the fresh, cool sea air. I take in the view, looking out over the blue lagoon, the shadowy hulks of sunken ships the protruding masts—some with crow’s nests or flags still intact. A Viking graveyard.

But I will not be buried here amongst them.

I untie Mjolnir from the ladder rope and refasten the end of it to the axe haft, using the hammer to pummel it into the rock like a stake until it is plunged deep. I tug it, feeling it is secure. This way, I can climb in and out easily without having to refasten the ropes each time. Just to test it, I loop Mjolnir through my belt and climb back down, shaking it a bit, testing its integrity dangerously, but it holds my weight effectively. 

I shout with pride as I hop down to meet Loki again. “Our dilemma is solved.” I take her in my arms and kiss her. “And you doubted me.”

She gives me a roll of her eyes. “Yes, yes, now must I hear you boast about it for the next moon cycle?” 

Frowning, I pick her up and spin her about until she squeals, and rediscover my smile. “I could boast about so much, like how I was the only one worthy to lift Mjolnir, or how I was the only male you’ve seduced who managed to get you with child. Would you rather I boast of those things?” 

Loki sneers at me. “Swine—”

I spin her again and she squeals again. “Who is swine when you make such a sound?”

“…Thor!” she snaps, and I relent, setting her on her tiny white feet in the gold. 

“I cannot help but ruffle your black feathers.”

“How do you know they are black?”

“Because they could be no other color, Trickster.” I smile down at her and after a moment’s sneering, she returns it. I pull her up to me and kiss her, despite the foulness I know her mouth abides. “Now then…shall we celebrate my triumph before I venture forth to hunt?”

She raises an eyebrow, looking up at me with a glint of mischief in those emerald eyes. “What do you propose?” I grin and grab her up off her feet, sprawling her back in the nearest pile of gold and gems. “Are you mad? I am fat with your get, and you still wish to rut about?”

“I am no fish or serpent sniffing about to mate, Loki. My love is my love and my desire for you is unending. Whether or not you are with child is of little consequence to me in that regard.” I begin to undress, tossing my tunic and belt aside along with Mjolnir. 

“Perhaps I shall grow accustomed.” She lets out a purr and brushes her hair aside, reaching up to embrace me and pull me in close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know it's been a while, and I know this chapter is mostly fluff, but I promise we're getting there! The next chapter will be more intense, I promise.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's pregnancy is anything but pleasant for either party involved, but still Thor finds that he is happy with this turn of events. Despite past tragedies, and an uncertain future, he is looking forward to meeting his child.

The day finally comes.

Loki has taken to lounging in the pool at the cave mouth, taking the weight off her knees and feet. She has become, frankly, huge. I never thought her slender frame could protrude so far. I am surprised she does not tip right over like a felled tree and I like to let her know this often, to which I always receive a biting retort. I have also thoroughly enjoyed the ever-growing marvel of her swelling breasts. They are becoming full with milk, much to Loki’s horror and chagrin. 

“I have become a fat, suckling land beast like you and your kind!” she thunders, in a voice to rival my father’s at his angriest. “I hate this! And you!”

“Come now, you are beautiful,” I say, paying no attention to her outbursts. I give her tits a good groping and she yelps. “I think you are more beautiful now than you were singing on the cliffs.”

“Absurd!” she snaps, and pinches my inner elbow to get me to let go of her. 

I find I enjoy doting on Loki. Though there is not much she needs, she likes it best when I hold and massage her, especially her legs and feet and back, or comb her hair. Anything to keep her relaxed and well. I like to feel her swollen belly, feel the child inside squirming and kicking. 

“…my son will be a warrior,” I announce, after an especially aggressive kick. 

“Your son?” she snaps. “I am the one carrying this parasite. And how do you know it is male?”

“I just have a feeling.” I rub that pale belly again. “He is a fighter, I can tell.” 

“You know nothing, Odinson,” she grumbles. “She could be a powerful wielder of seidr. Or not a she or he at all. A shapeshifter.” 

I chuckles. “Whatever our child is, they will be perfect.” Loki doesn’t respond, and I’m not sure if she knows how. I bring her in even closer against me and kiss that smooth brow. She leans into my touch and I am happy. 

It is only hours later, when Loki is on her way to lounge and bob in the water again, that she lets out a gasp, and then a cry. Her hands go to her stomach and I am at her side in an instant. 

“Loki! Are you alright?!”

“I think… I think the young is coming…” She soon lets out another cry and stumbles, and I reach out to take hold of her so she doesn’t fall. “Yes… I think it’s time…”

“What should I do? You should lie down by the fire…” I start to gather her into my arms, so light even with a baby inside her. 

“No!” she yells, and I freeze. “Take me to the water.”

“To the water? Loki, that makes no sense.”

“Perhaps not to a barbarian,” she sneers, her fingernails digging into my arm. “Take me to the water, curse you!” 

Reluctant and uncertain, I obey her and bring her to the pool, lying her gently in the shallows. She sits back, lifting her knees and spreading them. I think a moment before I find a pile of furs and fabrics and pile them up behind her so she can comfortably lean. Then I sit beside her. 

“Is there anything I can do, Loki?” 

She takes several deep breaths. I reach out to take hold of her hand, and she squeezes mine tightly. I cannot help but smile. “I don’t… Oh, Thor, I don’t know… I think it will simply…happen.”

“Of course… I suppose.” At home, men are expressly forbidden from entering the room once the midwife arrives to aid in the birth, so I had never witnessed it, nor had any comrade I’ve known. How foolish a tradition it is after all, now that I am here with my beloved and have no means to assist her. Knowledge can only bring cunning and preparedness in the face of the unknown, yet here I am unarmed. “I wish I could do something more.”

“You have done quite enough, brute!” she screams at me and then lets out a shrill moaning cry, squeezing my hand again, and then her tone abruptly changes to something soft and fluttering, like the wing of a bird. “Oh, Thor…I am frightened…”

“I am too, Loki…”

“What have you to fear, oafish bastard?!” she screams again, and my head is left spinning from her shifts in mood, even more jarring than her shifts in shape.

I can see this is going to be a very, very long night.

~~~

Hours pass, I think, but it could be a hundred years for how miserable it is. Loki leaps between screaming the most obscene, low, vicious insults at me to imploring me to hold her close and never leave, to wipe her brow, to bring water to her lips. Perhaps giving birth is always like this? How am I to know? And besides which, however much I am suffering, I know her pain is infinitely worse. She is being torn apart, the contractions becoming more often and more ruthless as the night goes on. 

But finally, sometime near dawn, Loki begins to make a new sound, arcing her body so she is sitting up as far as she can. I try to help, to adjust the fabric cushioning beneath her, as she crouches on her haunches, panting desperately. I do what I can to hold her steady as she kneels in the shallow water. 

“Thor, it’s… I think it’s happening now!” she sputters, and instead of screaming her voice begins to shriek and break with gasping, struggling moans. 

I try to look, to watch, as this is something I normally would never be able to witness. Loki is pushing soon enough, hissing her breath through her teeth with tears pouring down her face. I find a piece of leather for her to bite down on and she gives me a brief, grateful look before she crushes my hand in hers and soldiers on. Soon enough, I see a head emerge, and with some wriggling and forceful efforts, the shoulders pass as well. 

“You are doing it, Loki! Oh, you are doing perfectly! Here he comes! Or she! Oh it doesn’t matter, she’s coming out!” I am shouting idiotic babble but I am too excited to care. 

After that, the rest comes easy, and the babe sort of plops out into the water within a cloud of dark blood. Reacting instantly, I thrust my hands into the water and retrieve the infant, bringing it above the surface so it can breathe.

But perhaps my concern was unwarranted.

With only a glance, I can see that the babe has the tail of a fish instead of chubby little legs and digits. For that moment—I am horrified, stunned, disappointed, and sickened that all the sweet promises I made to my beloved are forfeit—but then the babe parts its lips and begins to cry and wail. 

I did not lie to Loki: my child has a fish tail and perhaps gills and the gods know what else, and in this state I cannot tell if it is a son or a daughter, but truly I care not. 

I am a father, and I am overjoyed. 

“Thor…” Loki is moaning, having fallen back against the cushions behind her, her shaking legs in the water. “Oh, Thor, what is it…? It is intact? Is it well?”

I am speechless for a moment but then I come back to my sense and smile at my beloved. “Yes, all is well… A strong voice like that means a healthy babe, or so I seem to recall the midwife saying after my brother was born.” I move to sit on the cushion beside Loki, showing her the infant. “It seems you were a merrow when you conceived.”

“Yes…so it would seem.” Loki looks warily up at me. “I am…sorry…”

“Nay, Loki.” I take an arm away to put it around her. “My heart is soaring. Do not apologize for such a wonder.” 

I think she smiles, but she is breathing so heavily she is all but collapsed. She weakly reaches up to touch the babe’s chubby fingers. “Incredible… So small.”

“Yes.” I look around, finding a dagger nearby in Loki’s treasure, and use it to cut the umbilical cord from the child’s belly. The rest of the afterbirth and other viscera has washed away in the water, and the babe itself is mostly cleaned from being born beneath the surface. A clever idea, even if Loki was not intending this. I think she just wanted the comfort of the sea. Next I find a dry, soft bit of a garmet to swaddle the child in, and turn to let Loki hold it. 

She seems overcautious, at first, unsure of herself as she cradles the little one, but soon enough the babe is nuzzling its mothers breast and squeezing her finger, and the cold, calculating Trickster I had always known utterly melts. 

Her sharp features all soften, like fresh butter left out in the midday sun. Her eyes spill over with adoration. She smiles the gentlest smile, one I never thought to see on her deceitful lips.

“Loki…I love you,” I find myself saying, unable to resist. I lean in and kiss the side of her sweaty head. She leans against my chest as I hold her, mesmerized by the little one. “Loki…can you tell the sex?”

“Oh yes… Of course.” She uncovers the babe’s tail a bit, feeling around its tiny hips and pelvis. She frowns, puffing up her cheeks indignantly. 

I am grinning. “A son.”

“Yes, yes, oaf, a male. Enjoy your victory.”

I laugh happily, kissing her again, and pet the boy’s—my son’s—head. He is even tinier than I imagined a newborn to be. My hand is larger than his entire head. He seems so breakable, but at the same time, so full of life and verve. “My little warrior.”

“He is a merrow, don’t forget. He may be a shapeshifter yet,” she reminds me stubbornly. 

“Of course.” 

Soon enough, the boy is nuzzling and suckling, searching for a nipple. “…What is he doing?”

“The milk, Loki, remember?” 

She sneers. “Oh, that. I had forgotten… Somehow I hoped he would not need it.” She adjusts him, bringing his face where it needs to be, and then he is feeding eagerly. 

I watch Loki with our son, feeding him with a tired, obstinate, but somehow glowing expression. I watch the boy, pale and plump with just a dusting of black hair on his head and shiny, reddish colored scales on his chubby little fish’s tail. 

It is then that I think the most unmanly thing I have ever thought: my baby is adorable, I am in madly in love, and whatever might transpire in the future, this moment and all the world is perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter so soon?! Holy shit! Part of my new year's resolution to WRITE A LITTLE BIT ON SOMETHING EVERY DAY, NO MATTER WHAT! Here's hoping I can stick to it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new bundle in their lives seems to be less of a blessing and more of a curse, at first.

“Will he ever stop crying?” Loki gripes at me for the thousandth time as we lie together in our bed roll near the fire. Her usually sparkling, mesmerizing eyes are bloodshot with deep, dark bags beneath them. I imagine mine are not much better, and my brain is sunk deep into a mire of exhausted frustration. 

Our son is tucked in a nest of soft fabrics right near us, a bit further from the fire, and has been crying on and off all hours of the night, every night, since he was born.

“I would think that eventually he would, but…” Groaning, I sit up, making Loki gripe louder as I pull away from her to gather the tiny babe in my arms. I dwarf him and his little body, and it is still strange to feel the glassy texture of fish scales slip across my skin, but I have easily fallen in love with him, my boy. Gently, I rock him back and forth, trying to calm him, but he will not stop weeping. His voice is weak, sputtering for air, but his tears are constant. “Perhaps he is hungry?” I offer, fatigued and dismayed beyond belief.

“I only just fed him,” Loki complains, glaring at me from where she is trying to hide beneath the furs. 

“Loki.”

She sighs and sits up, jerking out her arms to take him. She cradles him close, holding him to her breast, but he shows no interest, simply continuing to weep. I would be grateful he is not wailing if it didn’t mean his little lungs were thoroughly worn out. “He wants nothing to do with it. I am at my wit’s end, Odinson.”

I roll my eyes at her biting use of my surname, but truthfully, I am just as vexed. “…something must be wrong. He must be sick.”

“Sick?” Loki tries to rock and bounce him, petting him comfortingly, but nothing will ease him. “What should we do then?”

“…I have no idea…” I lean in to reach out and hold his pudgy little hand. “But we must think of something…and soon. I do not know if any of us can endure this much longer.” I dab at my son’s tears. “Poor thing.”

Loki exhales helplessly, looking around the cavern as we both pet and coo at the child. She absently massages his tailfins between her fingers. I find myself doing the same, and he almost seems to calm, for a moment, but then starts coughing from lack of air and begin to flap his tail wildly, slapping at Loki’s arm. 

“He is doing this again,” I mourn, trying to hold him still. “I am at a loss…” He continues to slap at her arm with his tail.

The Trickster, however, has gone quiet, contemplating everything in silence for a moment. She wordlessly hands the baby to me and I take him, rocking him with a hand pressed to his tail, trying to keep him from thrashing about. 

“He is going to exhaust himself to death if this goes on,” I say. “If only he could tell us what he needs.”

Loki stands suddenly then, leaning to pick up our son out of my grasp and carry him across the cavern. 

“Loki?” I get up, following her in confusion despite my state of undress. “What are you doing?” She takes the child to the pool at the mouth of the cave and drops him in the water. “Loki! What in Hela’s name are you doing?!” I am about to dive in but she reaches out and stops me with surprising strength. 

“Wait. Just look.” 

I try to think through my panic and look down in the water, seeing a flash of white, and then a sparkle of red. As the surface ripples and kicks up tiny waves, and my eyes adjust eventually to the full dark away from the fire, I realize that he is swimming. Or attempting to. 

“…he can swim? Already? But he was only born days ago. This cannot be.”

“He is not a pathetic human newborn,” Loki reminds me, and steps out into the water, that gold shimmer sailing along her body before she transforms into her merrow shape. She dives in, joining the babe, and I can see her below the surface adjusting and aiding him in his endeavors. She rights his position and holds him beneath his belly, guiding him as he flaps and wriggles his tail. She keeps him close, her head and shoulders above water, holding him up as he stirs up froth. “He needs a great deal of work to get it right, but he will.”

“Even if he isn’t a ‘pathetic human,’ he is still a newborn, Loki,” I scold her. “So he has gills then? He can breathe alright?”

“Yes, it seems so.” She lets him frolic and flop about in the water for a while, so I have a seat, resting my feet in the water to watch them together. I cannot help but smile. 

“He isn’t crying anymore,” I realize. “Is it water he wanted all along?”

“It must be… He cannot yet shift shape as I can, so it is a merrow’s sensibilities he possesses. It must have been too dry for him. Perhaps breathing air is too difficult for him to do for so long… it could be any number of things, but at least this seems to be easing him.”

“But what can we do? We cannot just leave him to wander about in the lagoon. Anything could happen to him! He could strand himself, or get eaten by a shark…” I grip at my hair. 

“Thor, calm yourself. We will not leave him alone in the lagoon.” She looks up at me. “Fetch Mjölnir. I have an idea.”

My eyebrow lifts in confusion, but I do as she asks, after pulling my breeches back on. “And what am I to do with her?” I ask once I have returned with the hammer.

“We must construct a smaller lagoon, here within the main cavern,” Loki explains, still helping our son to awkwardly but eagerly swim. “This one will be shallow, and smooth, so we may keep an eye on him whilst he plays in the water.”

I find myself smiling. “Clever as always, my love.”

“And yet you continue to doubt me.” She meets my smile with her own. 

“Yes, yes, I am ever the fool.” I roll my eyes before I go about accomplishing the task I have been set to, hoping that this will finally quell our poor boy’s suffering once and for all. 

~~~

A few hours later, and I’ve hollowed out a smooth trench in the rock floor, nearer to the mouth of the cave, but still far enough so there is no fear of our boy escaping into the open lagoon. I next dig out a narrow spillway from the cave mouth to the smaller pool so the water can drain in and out of it, keeping it full. 

Once it is filled, and the water is steadily trickling to and fro, I take the babe from Loki and set him in the smaller pool. She shifts back to her female human form and joins me, watching over him. He thrashes about at first, unable to really control his movements or direction. Loki slides her legs into the water and helps him so he will not knock his head into the side.

After a while of Loki helping him swim, he tires himself, and she gathers him into her arms so he can suckle at her breast. We sit together, our feet in the water, and I cannot help but touch his chubby little hand again, wrapping my other arm around her. 

“Loki…we really should name him,” I mention, hoping she will not brush me off again. 

Sighing, she switches breasts. “…I suppose, if it is so important to you.”

“Did your father not give you your name?”

“Jotnar earn their names through deeds,” Loki explains. “Many do not receive a name until later in life.”

“I see…” I frown. “I find that custom rather appealing, actually…To win a name befitting your spirit rather than have it handed to you… But I would prefer to have something to call him in the meantime.”

“If that is what you wish…then I will simply call him Thorson.” She rocks him once he is finished, attempting to burp him and lull him to sleep. 

I shake my head, but it is more than she has given me thus far, and I suppose it is good enough. “Very well. For now, he will go by family name.” I gently stroke my thumb over the thin tuft of black hair on his head. “Thorson.” He is soon asleep on Loki’s bosom, utterly tuckered out. It makes me smile to myself. 

Loki exhales in relief. “…let us put him to bed, and then try to do the same. It has been days since I slept more than a few minutes at a time.” 

“I think that is the cleverest thing you have said yet,” I concur with a yawn. After tucking little Thorson into his nest of silks and soft fabrics, Loki and I lie back down in our own bedding. I gather her up in my arms, holding her close, and let myself relax as our son finally sleeps soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for yet another short chapter beautiful people. It's not what I promised, but I assure you I have things planned. Thanks so much for your patience. I'm working on several things at the same time, stretching myself a bit thin right now. I'm about to start a new job so things have been pretty hectic.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bit of happiness Thor has attained reaches a breaking point, and the noble warrior is forced to make a decision as everything that has ever mattered to him is brought into question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this chapter is more graphic than previous ones.

For a while, things are peaceful, even blissful. I have nearly forgotten I am stranded on a mystical island and living in a sea cave with a flesh-eating witch. 

Nearly. 

As time goes on, time I cannot rightly measure, though I have been trying—climbing in and out of the cave via the ladder exit I constructed and paying better attention to the cycles of the sun—it eventually becomes painfully clear to me that this cannot last. When my men return, I must go back with them. After all that has transpired, it is my earnest desire that Loki and our child accompany me, but I do not think she will agree. Not without breaking the curse on her people. And how could I deny her such a wish? I would do anything for my clan, and indeed here I am; that has been most of the reason for this journey. 

Still, any time I think of leaving her and the baby, I wince from the pain in my heart. I dare not let my mind wander, and try to live slowly, in the moment. Hour by hour, I indulge this brittle fantasy, knowing that it could shatter at any moment, the pieces slipping through my fingers. 

However, it all comes crumbling down in a manner so unexpected, the gods must be angry with me. Perhaps the true Thor knows I wield Mjölnir and is punishing me for holding what is rightfully his. With what comes to pass next, I begin to believe this to be so, and consider tossing the Warhammer into the sea in an attempt to appease him.

Loki becomes ill. 

She sleeps for nearly days at a time, restlessly, and moves as little as possible. Even Thorson’s cries cannot rouse her to action anymore. I have taken it upon myself to rock and play with the babe alone, as his mother will have none of it. I question her, but she snaps at me and I think it must be something to do with Loki being forced to remain in her female form so long. Perhaps she has never done so for such a long period and it has addled her mind? She is more irritable than ever.

I push my concerns away until Loki begins to feed Thorson less and less often. I attempt to coax her, telling her this foul mood is no reason to neglect our child. She continues to lash out at me, though it is weak, and she sleeps more than ever now. Finally, when Thorson has not been fed for an entire day and night, and his wailing has forced me to a breaking point, I grab Loki and shake her awake. 

“I do not care what has soured your mood, witch, but our son needs to be fed! I cannot do it myself in case you have forgotten! Now get up!” 

“Be gone from me, oaf,” she tries to growl, but her voice is all but withered. Her skin is paler than ever, her breathing shallow.

“If you are sick, Loki, then tell me so I can help you! Must you be so stubborn?”

“There is nothing you can do,” she hisses at me, trying to pull free, and I can barely hear her over the cries of the babe. “Just leave me here. Take the young with you and leave!”

“Why are you doing this?” I demand, pulling her slumping, heavy body up from the bed roll. “I do not want to leave you, infuriating as you are.” With my other hand I attempt to pet and comfort Thorson, but he will not be comforted. “Do not tell me you can ignore this. He is hungry, Loki, do you feel nothing for him? Can you be so heartless, indeed?”

She starts to shake her head, incessantly, trying to push me away, her fingers clawing pitifully, not even hurting. I shake her a bit violently in both hands, growing angry now. 

“Loki, answer me! Would you watch your own child die?! Is that the kind of creature you are?!”

“I cannot feed him, damn you!” she shrieks, still shaking her head. And then she does something I have never imagined her doing—she begins to weep. She covers her face in her hands and sobs into my chest. 

“Loki, I… Entirely caught off guard, I hold her to me. "What do you mean? Talk to me, please.”

“I am not making milk anymore,” she confesses, finally. “I’m too weak. I have tried to get it to come out, but nothing comes. I cannot feed him!”

“But I don’t understand… Why would that happen?” I feel blunt and stupid, thinking this is something that might happen to a mother but I have no such knowledge.

Loki shakes her head again. “…I am starving,” she says to me at last. 

“What?”

“I am starving!” she screams at me, but it is hardly what I can call a scream at all. “All the man flesh… It is gone. I have eaten all that I have stored in the ice, and it is gone. The milk has run dry… I think I will die soon.” Her long fingers curl against me. “You must go. Take Thorson…try to save him. I can do no more for him…”

“Loki, there must be something we can do. I will not leave you here to die alone!”

“You must…” 

And that is the last thing she says to me. She goes limp in my embrace, and no matter what I do to rouse her, she becomes listless and refuses to speak. Or perhaps she is simply unable. I continue to call to her, long after I realize it is in vain. I hold her flaccid body in my arms, unable to hear her struggled breathing over the sound of my son crying in distress. 

Laying her down on the furs, I brush her hair back from her sweaty brow before taking Thorson in my arms and rocking him gently, cooing and trying to calm him even though I know there is no point. I pet his small tuft of black hair, smooth his tail fins between my fingers, doing everything I can to offer comfort to my child where there is none to be had. 

I think perhaps an hour passes where I feel somewhat of a daze cast over me, my thoughts feeling as if they are someone else’s, far away from this place. I remember my family, oceans away, my crew whom I hope is still alive but have no real idea of. I think of my mission, and how I have all but forgotten why I cared so very much about it in the first place, or how I ended up here in this hopeless Hel of my own doing. 

Honor.

Honor is why I came here, and it had once meant everything to me. I risked my life and the lives of my closest friends, and every last member of my crew, for honor. I threw myself into reckless battles and killed dozens, ordered the killing of hundreds, all for honor. I felt my full, happy life, in which I was never wanting, was empty without honor. Honor was everything, and when my father has brought it into question I felt utterly worthless. 

And now at last, when it is perhaps too late and I am losing everything that truly had worth, do I finally realize that honor means all but nothing to me now. 

Turning and settling my child back in his tiny cradle, I stand and cross the cave, beginning to dig through Loki’s piles of treasure. She organizes them in particular ways that please her, so I know where I must look and it does not take me long. I find a stout, sturdy dagger with a wide blade, such that I have never seen amongst my own people. With it, I go to look through a pile that contains exotic garments and furs, finding a swatch of thick fabric and a leather belt. Nodding to myself, I bring these items near the fire, kneeling beside where I have lain Mjölnir. 

I put a pot of water over the fire to let it boil and use a cord to tie back my loose hair, which has become very long and unruly in my time here. When the water is boiling, I dip the swatch of fabric in the water, cleaning it as best I can before I remove it and cut it into thin strips, wringing them out and setting them aside. Then I strap the leather belt around my left biceps, tightening it more and more with the end of the strap in my teeth, growling out my discomfort through them.

When my left forearm and hand are suitably numb, I take the dagger and hold it in the flames until it is nearly red-hot. With a last look over to Loki’s unconscious body and my loudly suffering child, I bite hard into the leather and go about the arduous task of cutting off my left arm at the elbow. 

~~~

After nearly a lifetime of slaughtering others in battle, I never would have guessed it was so difficult to sever a limb.

Loki must be dying, for she barely stirs despite my muffled screams and the hideous, grotesque sounds of my own dismemberment. I stab repeatedly into my flesh with the hot metal, splitting open my flesh until I reach the bone. My body seeming to have caught fire in what feels much like a Berserker’s lust for blood in battle, I hack and hack until it becomes clear it will take more to get through the bone. Looking over at Mjölnir, I take her in my hand and pray for the strength to get through this ordeal before I plant the dagger in the seam of my elbow where bone meets bone and then raise the mythical hammer over my shoulder, bringing it down with all my remaining strength. 

I hear the crack but I see nothing as my vision goes black for a moment, and I raise the hammer again and bring it down brutally again. Another crack but it still isn't over, so I do it again. A third echoing crack and a great pressure seems to have been released and when my sight returns, I see that my forearm is apart from the rest of my body. The blood rage beginning to drain from me, I scramble to take up the strips of fabric. The moment I loosen the leather belt, blood begins to spurt forth, and never would I have thought the sight of blood could make me so afraid.

Quickly, I wrap the stump of my arm in layers and layers of the makeshift bandages, then secure the leather belt again around my biceps to slow the bleeding. At first I think it will not stop and I will die, but eventually, mercifully, it does. 

Exhausted, I slump into the puddle of my own blood, chasing my desperate breath, thinking I will pass out of the waking world as my eyes become fogged with strange colors and flickers of light. In all my battles, I have never felt such pain as this. I realize I have been pampered, surrounded by sacrificial bodies, encased in armor, riddled with luck. I have never lost a limb, or even received a very life-threatening wound. My largest scar is from a cut to my leg. How badly did it hurt when my father lost his eye? How badly did it hurt every time a comrade fell in a fight? When Tyr's hand was knocked off by an axe, how did he keep on fighting? 

Was honor worth all this? What have I been living for, fighting for, all this time?

Instead of passing out, I find myself darting up and vomiting into the nearest empty pot, sputtering and spitting as my guts twist. When I am emptied, I find water to choke down, and again try to gather my strength. I take my severed arm and crawl awkwardly to Loki’s side, smearing the furs in blood that has soaked my breeches. 

“Loki,” I think I am saying, but I am no longer sure if I am speaking out loud or in my head. “Loki, please, wake. It is all right now. You can eat, and Thorson can eat. I will not let you or our child die. I will not…let...” 

It happens then, and the ceiling is suddenly the floor and light is darkness, and I am freed from the horrible pain.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor wakes, and again what he finds defies all his expectations. He thought by now there could be no more surprises in his life with Loki, but the surprises are just beginning.

~~~ 

I am across the sea, home in Asgard. 

I am adorned in my finest tunic, armor, and furs with Mjölnir in my hand, and I am welcomed by the cheers of my people. Women and children throw flowers at my feet as I ride my horse through the town, my men at my back, all of us bound for my father’s longhouse atop the highest hill. I cannot help but smile and wave, seeing all the familiar faces of my subjects, comrades, and neighbors. For so long I have felt stifled here, but now I think the golden halls of Valhalla would pale in comparison.

I inhale deeply as I summit the hill, enjoying the familiar scents of my home—freshly tilled earth, pine, iron, leather, sheep’s wool, meat roasting on open fires, and the ever-present but misty spray of the sea. 

Dismounting my horse, I push open the doors to Odin’s longhouse and to my surprise I am greeted warmly by my entire family. My mother and brother rush forward to embrace me, and even my stern, ruthless father smiles atop his throne, nodding his head. A grin splits my face and on impulse I turn to find Loki and include him in my joy—

But he is not there at my side. 

I startle awake with a pang of agony in my heart, eyes darting everywhere and finding I cannot move. I gasp for breath, my vision unfocused and the rest of my body numb. All my life I have trained for battle, and never have I felt panic like this.

Where am I? What happened? Why can I not move? Or breathe?

“Thor.”

I hear Loki’s voice and almost immediately calm seeps through my soul, and I try to get a handle on my anxious panting. “L-Loki?”

“Yes, I am here.” I feel something of a pressure on my chest, and think she must be touching me. 

“Am I…alive?”

I hear a bit of a chuckle. “You are. But you have been asleep for a long time. Relax. Your senses will come back to you in time.”

I barely allow myself to be happy about this news. “Are you all right, Loki? Are you well?” I attempt to reach out to her, but my arms feel so heavy, so weak. My skin tingles all over, and truly, I must not have moved for quite some time. 

“Yes, Thor. I am well. For now, just rest and breathe.” Slowly, sensation begins to return to me, tiny bit by tiny bit, and soon I can feel her hand in my hair. My entire body seems to let out a sigh of relief at her gentle touch. 

“Loki…what about… I had a dream, and I was so certain you would be there, but when I turned, I was alone. My family and people were there, but I was alone…” Everything begins to come back to me the more I wake. “Thorson!” I try to force myself up from the ground, blinking rapidly, shaking my head and trying to rouse my groggy brain. My nerves go haywire, sending my heart pounding and my lungs struggling all over again. “Is he all right?!”

“Thor, hush,” Loki coos, pushing me back down. “He is fine, but if you carry on like this much longer you will wake him up.”

“He is all right…” I manage to get a handle of myself, sliding back down into what I can now feel is our bed roll of soft furs. In a few more moments I can feel the nearby warmth of the fire. “I thought... The dream…”

“Thor, please. Just rest for now.”

“Loki, what has happened? Why do I feel so…weak? Did I bleed too much? Am I going to…”

“No, Thor. I did this to you. I made you sleep with my seidr, so you could rest and recover your strength. You have been unconscious for two days.”

“Two days? But I…” I push up on my right elbow and instinctively reach out to Loki with my left, wanting to touch her, but remember too late that I will have nothing to touch her with. 

But then my hand makes contact with her cool flesh, and I feel it—it’s dull and filtered through the numbness, but it’s there. In shock, thinking perhaps my mutilating myself was also a horrible dream, but I look down at my left arm and find something else entirely. 

“Loki…what is this?”

“It was the best I could do,” she offers, reaching out to press her hand on my chest, trying to keep me calm I realize. “I could not leave you like that.”

In shock, I look down to find my arm restored…in some form or fashion. In the place of what once was flesh and blood is a replica made of what looks to be metal, constructed of smooth plates, each one glistening like a freshly polished sword right off the forge. I open and close my fist, turning my wrist this way and that. I slowly reach over to touch Loki’s arm again. It does not feel the same, but I do feel something. It is as if I am trying to touch her through layers of wool.

“Loki…how?” is all I can manage to ask, though there are so many questions swirling like a maelstrom in my mind. 

“I made it for you from iron and gold,” she explains, reaching down to take my new hand, squeezing it. “It will not feel the same… Your sense of touch will be…minimal, but it is functional. You will not have the same dexterity or learned skill that you once had, but you will be able to use it for less intricate tasks.”

I barely hear her detailed rundown of my new limb, frightened and fascinated in turn by how alien it is. It is strange and horrifying and yet…it is part of me. I concentrate a moment before squeezing her hand back.

“Loki…was it enough?”

She lifts my metallic hand and unfurls it for me, pressing my palm to her cheek. “It will do for now. I can make it last perhaps a week.”

“I will cut off the other arm if need be, or my legs.” I clutch her face, perhaps too hard with my strange new fingers. “If need be, I will let you have all of—”

She puts her fingers to my lips, silencing me. “Enough, Thor. I know. I know you will.” She moves in against me, pressing herself to my chest and wrapping her arms around my waist. “I am sorry that it came to this before I learned to trust you. But when I woke and saw what you did for me, for our young…” She nuzzles my neck. “I am sorry I did not tell you, Thor. I did not know what to do, what to say. I have never been so helpless in all my long years of life, and so I panicked and I lost hope. But you sacrificed so much without a thought.” She looks up at me and I run my good hand through her hair. “But it will not be in vain, and you will not need to give any more of yourself. This has bought me time, and I will think of a plan. I will find some way to save us. All of us.”

“I believe you will, Loki. I trust you.” I hold her in my arms and kiss her, as more and more feeling return to me and my vision clears little by little. “Thank you…for putting me back together.”

Loki kisses me again, rubbing her hand back and forth over my new arm. The sensation is odd, like a feather touch atop a tunic of mail. I open and close my fist again, hearing the light metallic scrape of my fingers against my palm.

We continue to simply hold each other by the fire, as I come to terms with the loss of my arm. At least it was not my throwing arm. I can still fight, still wield Mjölnir or an axe. That is a small mercy, but what matters is that Loki and my son will live. 

“Thorson… You can feed him again?”

“Yes, I made a little milk yesterday, and I fed him as much as I could. I have been making more, and I will feed him again when he wakes.” 

I turn to look over at the little one. Thorson is nestled in his cradle of silks and garments, sleeping soundly. I reach over and gently place my good hand on him, careful not to wake him. For a few moments, I just feel his little chest rise and fall and sigh with relief. 

“What will we do? We have to break your curse, Loki. We have to, or else this will just happen again… You’ll starve, and he’ll starve.” I frown, my brow furrowing tightly, and shake my head. “My honor, my mission, my father—they matter not. Nothing else matters anymore.”

“I have been thinking while you have been asleep, and I will continue to think. I will find a solution.” 

“We will, together. Whatever you need me to do, just say the word. I will give everything for you and Thorson.”

“You have given more than enough, Thor.” She squeezes my new hand again. “Now please…rest for now. One more night and you will have your strength back.”

“All right, Loki. All right.” Slowly, I lie back down in the furs. She lies with me, pressing close. She hums a haunting melody, much like the one she first sang to lure me here all those months ago. I pet her hair with my good hand, the one that can feel the softness of every strand. I let the sound of her voice enwrap me, cocoon me, until I drift back down into deep, sunken sleep.

~~~

The next days pass slowly, limping along as if the World Tree has ceased to grow and all her branches are stilled with no breeze to be had. I do not disturb Loki as she studies and contemplates and ponders. She vanishes for hours at a time, but I know this time she is not avoiding me, she is formulating a plan. Whatever it is, I will follow it. I want the curse broken. 

I want Loki to be free.

In between doing what I must to keep myself fed and continuing to train with Mjölnir, I try to enjoy my time playing with Thorson. He gets better and better at swimming, and instead of crying and wailing most of the time, he has begun to babble and coo. I love to hear these sounds from him, and find myself making them back more often than not. I never thought I would enjoy being a father so much.

I am in the process of tossing him up in the air and catching him when Loki emerges from the pool at the mouth of the cave. “What do you think you are doing to him?” she snaps. 

“Playing.” I catch him again and give him a good tickle, making him laugh. “He likes it.”

“If you drop him, I will eat the rest of you,” Loki snaps, coming to sit with me, kissing my neck. 

“Have a care, Loki, I may enjoy that.” I turn to smirk at her, tugging her in to give her a deep kiss. 

She all but growls into my mouth. “I do not need this kind of temptation right now,” she scolds, and reaches over to rub Thorson’s little fins. “I am trying to think.”

“Perhaps if we get our blood pumping at a healthy rate, it will help you to think more clearly.” I chuckle, giving her arse a good groping with my new hand, which I have grown much more accustomed too, though it is still strange, not my own and yet a part of me. It is not nearly so heavy as I would expect a limb made of metal to be, and Loki dismissed my inquires by saying I could never hope to understand magick. 

“Incorrigible lout,” she remarks, but her hand skims inside my breeches. My abdomen goes taut at the searching touch. 

“Mmm…” I smile and kiss along her hairline. “Come here.”

“Are you going to set your young down or shall we rut right here with him in your arms?”

I huff out a chest full of air. “I suppose you have a point.”

“I usually do, and it is always a good one.”

“Yes, Trickster, indeed so. Now feed our son and put him to bed so I can ravish you.”

“Do not give me orders, Odinson,” she sneers, picking up Thorson in her arms and bringing him to her breast. 

“Then do not look so beautiful whilst you obey them,” I sneer back, playfully. I am already hard when I go to undress and lie out on our bedding by the fire. 

After the babe has suckled his fill and is curled up in his little nest, Loki turns to me indignantly, hands on her hips, and all I can think about is driving my cock between them, splitting her open. I groan just thinking of it. 

“Must you keep me waiting, Loki?”

“As long as you squirm and wriggle so uncomfortably, I think I will.”

“Do not make me come after you, witch.”

“You could never catch me if you did, wretch.”

I raise my brow at her. “Is that a challenge?”

“It is a certainty.”

I get back to my feet, putting my hands on my own hips. “I do not know where you think you will go to escape me. You hate to leave the dark of this cave, you slippery serpent.”

“I can go into the water, and you would drown even trying to follow,” she retorts, though she has taken a step back.

I advance on her and she takes another step back. I grin and dart forward and she almost yelps as she turns to flee. Two long strides and I am reaching out to grab her, but suddenly she whirls away and is gone, and I am left grasping at air and fumbling over myself, nearly tripping and falling flat on my face on the cave floor. 

“What?” I turn, looking all over, and then I hear a fluttering above me and look up to see that Loki clings to a stalactite above by her feet, which have transformed into the talons of a great bird. Her arms have stretched out into raven-like wings, adorned in feathers of the blackest night. “Loki—what have you done? You can change into a bird as well?!”

“I thought we had been through this, simpleton. I am a shapeshifter.” 

She spreads her wings and flutters back down to me, and I gather her in my arms to pull her in close. I stroke the softness of her feathers. More feathers line her brow and upper arms, and they are downy and terribly soft. 

“You were right about my wings,” she mentions, and I am confused for a moment before I remember saying her wings would be black if she had any. Of course, I had been jesting. 

I smile to her. “So I was.” I spin her, letting the air catch her wings and flutter the long, elegant feathers. “You could fly all this time…yet you have nowhere to go.” She frowns, and I can tell my words have hurt her. “I am sorry, Loki, but that is why I want so much to help you break this curse. I want you to be free. I want to help you be free, so you can roam the seas or the skies or anywhere else your heart could possibly wish to go.”

She nods, enshrouding me in her soft, dark wings. “I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know that too.”

I almost say more. I almost open my mouth and ask her to come home with me, to be with me for the rest of my life once her curse is broken. To join me in my father’s longhouse and feast amongst my kin, as one of us. To raise our son together, somehow. To make a life, any way we can. I want to ask her to be my wife, in whatever way that is possible, even if she is not really female, or male, or either. 

She is all I want in the world, but I do not say it. Loki’s freedom will be enough. Her happiness will be my contentment. I will not be empty so long as her heart is full.

I pull her in close and kiss her, toy with her feathers in my good hand and smooth the length of her back with my other. “I will make love to you until I can no longer move,” I whisper in her ear. 

“I will believe that when I see it,” she taunts.

“I would hate to disappoint you, Princess.”

“Do not call me that.”

“Mmm where have I heard that before?”


End file.
